


100 letters

by athousandsilhouettes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption II
Genre: AU to the main canon of the game, Enemies to Lovers, Evil dutch, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Time hop, but it will have a happy ending okay, in this house arthur never got TB, lots of fluff in the beginning because OH BOY is it going to get sad, teenage arthur and john, there i said it and i dont regret it, theyre both young and in love okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-19 09:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandsilhouettes/pseuds/athousandsilhouettes
Summary: “John didn’t know what to say at the time, struck so suddenly by a hollowness at Dutch’s words. A part of him couldn’t help but feel like it was unfair, the only thought crossing his mind being why did it have to be me? As if things in his life were too good to be true. That it was only fair Dutch came along to put John in his place and that he be shown the harsh reality of life.”An au where John and Arthur were both young teenagers together. Dutch is the reason John leaves for a year when he tells the young boy it's for an important mission related to the gang. Of course, John doesn’t want to go but has little choice, so he promises to send Arthur letters during his absence. Little does he know, things are far from how they used to be upon his arrival back.This leads into the main story of RDR2, which it will be set around but from John’s perspective.





	1. Part I

_“Hey, you awake yet?”_

The world came alive through the sound of the wind rustling trees and birdsong before John opened his eyes. His sense of vision took a moment to focus on the blurry image of a teenage boy with dirty blonde hair before him.

“Obviously not. What do you want, Arthur,” John groaned in a voice of annoyance, rubbing sleep away from his eyes.

“Well, first of all, for you to _be quiet_. No need to wake the whole camp now.”

John turned his head away, trying to hide a smile. It was just like Arthur to start something mischievous this early in the morning.

“What time is it anyway?” Not able to fake irritation any longer, he peered over his shoulder at Arthur. The older boy gave him a smile but said nothing as he stood and darted away.

For a moment John didn’t move, tempted to stay curled up in his bedroll for a couple more hours. The satisfaction of ignoring Arthur and knowing how much it would bother him almost enough encouragement for him to see it through. Only after a minute did he crack and admit defeat by pushing himself up out of bed.

Finding the nearest shirt, he pulled it over his head and lightly made his way through a silent camp. Early signs of dawn were yet to show as the ground was still cast in shades of blue. Making sure not to tread on any of the slumbering bodies scattered around, he followed the unmistakable silhouette of Arthur towards where the horses were kept.

“Hey!” John hissed, “you tryna get us in trouble or somethin’?”

“Always.” Arthur looked at John with intensity while still smiling. John averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks get warm, suddenly thankful for the cover of night.

John rarely saw Arthur in a serious mood. It was a quality they didn’t share, but one he always admired. Sometimes he wished he could be more like Arthur that way, but growing up the way John did hardwired him as a boy afraid of his own shadow. He never had the privilege of being a kid or making friends to get up to no good with.

The only life John ever lived was on the run. With no parents to raise him, he turned to a life of petty theft to get by. Until the day a man named Dutch Van Der Linde saved him from a sentence most young thieves endured. Until that man took him in as part of his own family of outlaws. Until he met Arthur.

Though in no way did Arthur have a proper upbringing either, John knew him never to have to fend for himself. The world was a cruel one John and Arthur were all too familiar with, John only learned people dealt with it differently. For Arthur, that meant taking nothing serious at all.

“You just going to stand there like an idiot, or are you gonna come with me?" Arthur hoisted himself onto his spotted mare in one flourish. He then looked down at John expectedly when he still hadn’t moved to his own horse.

John let out a sigh, “if Dutch finds out–” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Dutch won’t know anything.”

“But–”

“Oh my God, Marty, just get on your damn horse and follow me, will ya?”

After one last reluctant look behind his shoulder, John gave in and climbed on top of his horse. Quietly, they steered towards the edge of camp. They almost reached the border when the unmistakable noise of someone tutting made John tense. Both their heads swung around to meet Hosea standing there, loosely holding onto his rifle.

“What’re you two boys up to, hmm?”

John cringed at his own stupidity at forgetting the fact that they always had someone on guard. Even if they got lucky enough for it to be Hosea, the old man always having a soft spot for the two. Dutch would often say too much so, but Hosea never paid it any mind.

“We just wanted to do some fishing,” Arthur spoke. “I heard this time is best by the creeks.”

Hosea looked skeptical, though he only shook his head. “Well, since you’re heading out anyways, could you do an old man a favor and drop off this letter in town?”

Arthur nodded eagerly, taking the envelope Hosea held out.

He gave a stern look before letting go. “And remember to be keeping out of any trouble,” with that he slung his rifle over his shoulder, turning away to continue his early morning patrol.

The two shared a triumphant look between before high tailing it out of camp as fast and as quiet as possible. Once they left the perimeter, they rode steadily for a while.

The sounds of the surrounding forests were still prominent as the sun was far from rising. Crickets continued to chirp away as John followed Arthur’s lead. He felt himself finally relax, letting out a deep breath. John liked it when it was just the two of them, it was probably the only time he ever fully felt himself. He never told Arthur how much he enjoyed his company, though he had a feeling Arthur felt the same.

It didn’t take long until Arthur started humming one of his songs, the way he always did. Things never stayed quiet for too long with him. It was probably John’s favorite thing to hear in the whole world, setting his mind at ease. He felt the pressures of life lift to where he thought of nothing at all.

Arthur could’ve taken them anywhere and John wouldn’t have minded, but all too soon did they reach their destination when he finally broke the silence.

“The spots just up here.”

The trees they rode in opened up to reveal a small clearing at the edge of a cliff. Below was the familiar giant lake the gang had settled near. The sight made John a little uneasy.

Arthur dismounted and hitched his horse to a nearby tree, John following suit. He continued following Arthur right up until they were a couple of steps from the end of where the grass cut off, revealing a huge drop. John was hyper-aware of the wind that threatened to blow him over. He peaked his head as far as he could see over the cliff’s edge, too scared of moving any closer.

“Let’s jump off.”

John spun around in bewilderment to face Arthur, “are you kidding?”

Arthur didn’t say anything as he smiled wickedly at John with a wild look in his eyes.

“Do you have some sort of death wish, Arthur Morgan?” John furrowed his brow at him.

“I’ve done it before, we’ll be fine.” Arthur took a couple of steps back, “don’t think about it, just do it.”

John hesitated, unsure.

“Stop it, you’re thinking!” Arthur held out his hand, “do you trust me?”

Looking down at Arthur’s extended hand, John made up his mind. He knew that no matter what, he would always trust Arthur. With no further hesitation, he grabbed onto Arthur’s outreached hand. The seconds that followed passed by in a blur. He held on tightly as he sprinted and then jumped. John squeezed his eyes shut, feeling weightless as he waited for the waters to swallow him whole.

John held his breath, wondering if this might be the end after all. Then, suddenly, he was engulfed by water. Frantically, he flailed his limbs around trying to reach the surface. When he did, it was only for a brief moment before getting lost in the waves they’d created once more.

He felt something grab onto his arm and pull him up, gulping in air when he broke the surface once more. John blinked to see Arthur holding onto him, the wild look he last saw replaced by worry.

“John?”

John coughed, choking out, “I-I can’ swim!”

“You-WHAT,” Arthur sounded petrified, “why didn’t you say so?!”

“YOU TOLD ME… NOT TO…THINK,” John sputtered out between gasps of air and water.

Without another word Arthur wrapped his arms around John’s chest, dragging him towards the shore. Once they got in the shallows, John crawled onto the sands and collapsed. He breathed in and out of his lungs, greedy for air. His chest rising and falling at a significant pace as he lay, exhausted.

“Are… you okay?”

He squinted over at Arthur, still out of breath. After a second, John’s composure cracked. Stifling an escaped snort by bringing a hand to cover his face. Arthur's eyes went wide momentarily, dumbfounded. Then he, too, began laughing. The two of them couldn’t hold back as they began howling with laughter as they lay upon the shore. Flat on their backs, John had to hold his ribs from the pain. Though it was unbearable, he’d never felt so light before.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know,” there were tears in John’s eyes as he turned to look at Arthur now. They both turned away as they were struck with another bout of snickering.

When he could finally breathe again, he sat up. His clothes still weighing him down from being soaked, but it didn’t bother him.

Arthur sat up, too. “You’re a strange one, Marty.”

John looked back at him again, his face hurting from smiling so much. He expected to see Arthur’s cheeks still dimpled from amusement, but instead, he just held an expression of awe.

Feeling flustered, John quickly looked away. Letting his long, lank hair cover his face to hide from the other boy’s view. “Should we, um, should we go into town to drop off Hosea’s letter?”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Arthur stood up and brushed himself off. He didn’t even seem bothered from his still damp clothes, so John didn’t either. Arthur offered his hand to help John up, to which he took gratefully. The climb back up was steep but over before he knew it. Their horses were still hitched where they’d left them, grazing in the overgrown grass. They mounted up once again and set off towards the town they knew to be closest to their camp.

Hollowcrook Point was a quaint town but had the all they needed. There was a train station, saloon, and general store cluttered along a gully. Short bridges and winding pathways connected to make the place maneuverable. At the highest point stood a stable, which overlooked the surrounding land. Overall, John quite liked it here.

The sky was just beginning to lighten as they rode in. Leaving their horses outside, they headed into the post office inside the train station. Their task was easy enough, Arthur handing the station clerk the letter and some coins. John felt it was over way too soon, not wanting to leave for camp already.

Their steps were slowly paced as they exited the station, almost like they both felt the restraint to return.

“I suppose we should head back, then.”

John shrugged, “I suppose so.”

“Or…”

John glanced at Arthur hopefully, hanging off his words. A sly grin was back on his face, “come on, follow me.”

“What-you haven’t even said what we are doing!”

Arthur was already running further into town, giving John no choice but to follow. They ran through the muddy streets, the scarce townsfolk of the early morning barely paying them any mind as they flew through. Soon, they came up to the stables, Arthur turning a sharp corner behind one of the barns. John chased his form, almost running straight into him as he did.

Arthur motioned to a ladder beside him, “quick, climb up here!”

“Okay,” John reached for one of the rungs on the ladder, pulling himself up. After a few steps he looked down, “aren’t you coming, too?”

“Not yet, I’ll be right back, just wait for me on the roof!”

Before John could respond, he was gone. He sighed, continuing to climb up until reaching the roof. He scrambled onto it and sat waiting for Arthur. The breeze felt slightly warmer as the day was about to break, dawn threatening to spill over the horizon.

His head snapped toward the way he came up when he heard someone ascending. For a moment he panicked that it might be some farmer telling him to ‘_get off his damn roof’, _but was relieved to see Arthur’s blonde head appear instead. 

“Where’d you go?” John questioned him. Arthur answered by holding up a small, crumpled bag in his hands. John grabbed at it excitedly, knowing all too well what the coloured stripes of the bag implied.

“You got us candies?!” He eagerly opened the bag to reveal its contents. Triumphantly, John pulled out a hard mint candy. Popping one in his mouth, he savored the taste on his tongue.

Arthur took a seat next to him, “just in time too!”

John finally understood why Arthur brought them up here, as the sun began to rise over the horizon. Instantly, orange and light red hues broke across the clouds like a painting from some fancy museum. John wanted to capture the moment as if it were, desperately trying to take it all in.

“You know, it never gets old,” Arthur stared forward, mesmerized by the sight. “It’s so vibrant, it’s like no other colour could ever compare.”

John hummed in agreement, though he couldn’t help but disagree, thinking of how a certain shade of blue always seemed to take his breath away more than any sunrise ever could. When Arthur looked over with a smile, John saw exactly that and felt lost for air.

“No.” John repeated, “it never gets old.”

With the sun on their back now, John and Arthur rode back towards camp. The day had barely begun yet John felt as though a lifetime had passed between Arthur and him. Every day was something different with Arthur, John knew it to be anything but boring. It felt whole and right. As long as he was with Arthur nothing could go wrong.

He looked down at the palm of his hand that wasn’t gripping the reins of his horse. A slight smile pulling at his lips as John remembered the earlier events of that morning. Already anticipating the next time he could put his hand in Arthur’s to feel that same tenderness. How warm he felt, and how safe it all made John feel.

“Almost back, now,” Arthur brought John back from his thoughts.

“Come on, let’s ride faster!” Arthur made a clicking sound, his horse gaining speed as he moved to gallop in front of John. He did the same, catching up to match Arthur’s pace. They were back before they knew it, the sight of their tents and wagons coming into view as they approached.

Once their horses were taken care of, the two made their way into camp. Only after stepping a single foot in did Dutch already appear before them.

“You boys were gone for some time,” he held a stern expression as he waited for an explanation. They both shared a guilty exchange, John avoiding Dutch’s gaze.

“Well…” Arthur began. “We were actually just-”

“Running an errand for this old man” Hosea appeared out of nowhere beside them. He placed a hand on each of the younger boys’ shoulders.

“Thank you, by the way,” Hosea continued, looking at them each with gratitude. “I could’ve done it myself but God knows I don’t have the same enthusiasm as your youth.” Arthur and John both nodded. Hosea looked up at Dutch, “I hope this wasn’t a cause for any issue?”

The corner of Dutch’s mouth twitched, then he smiled. “Of course not, it’s no matter.” His eyes flicked toward John, “a word, son?” His tone was flat once more as he motioned for John to follow.

John glanced at Arthur with worry, who gave him a reassuring nod, “Hey, I’ll see you later, okay?”

John turned back toward Dutch, knowing he had little choice but to follow.

-

Dark shades of indigo settled over the land as night fell once more. John stared into the fire in front of him aimlessly. The flames burning into his eyes, he sat lost in thought. He couldn’t wrap his head around how the best day of his life had turned into the worst. When he had reluctantly followed Dutch earlier that day, he did not expect the events that would follow.

Once alone, he told John about a mission. A mission that involved John leaving the gang for a while and required the utmost discretion in its completion. John didn’t know what to say at the time, struck so suddenly by a hollowness at Dutch’s words. A part of him couldn’t help but feel like it was unfair, the only thought crossing his mind being, _why did it have to be me? _As if things in his life were too good to be true. That it was only fair Dutch came along to put John in his place and that he be shown the harsh reality of real life.

“You will be gone for a while.”

Dutch talked and John listened, eyes cast down as if being scolded. He spoke of a city called Blackwater, a place John had never heard of before. He was to travel there alone and work at a stable. Everything was perfectly planned out by Dutch down to the last detail. 

“You are just a simple young boy looking to do some honest work.”

That was how Dutch put it. There was a man on the inside that would ensure John would be taken in. He would keep his first name but give no last, he had to be invisible.

“You will leave in two weeks’ time.”

There was no disagreeing with Dutch, there was only acceptance. So when John didn’t say anything but nod along with what he was saying, Dutch did not see the fear that claimed John’s every racing thought while he stood there. He would be alone for this, and it terrified John. The last time alone being the months following his father death, which rooted a deep feeling of solitude within him since.

“I have faith in you, son.”

He proceeded to give John an encouraging slap on the shoulder, but he saw through Dutch’s clever and honeyed words. That he was only a pawn for plans held in higher regard to him. Dutch may have raised John, taught him how to read and write and hunt and kill. Practically everything he knew, but never once did he teach him to think above his own worth. Never once did John feel unconditional love from Dutch as a father would. Unlike Arthur, he was not his first son. And unlike Arthur, he was expendable.

John prodded at the fire with a stick, watching the embers rise into the night sky above. He felt defeated at knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do about the situation. There was a sinking feeling every time he thought about leaving. but more than anything, he dreaded telling Arthur. John had to, of course, but he did not know how.

John went to sleep that night with the intention of telling him the following morning. Then one day turned into two, thinking through how the conversation would go. Besides thinking of _how _to tell him, John battled between finding an opportunity to speak with Arthur and building the courage to do so. Overall making the entirety of it extremely agonizing.

After a few days passed spent going over details with Dutch, John went out hunting with Hosea and Arthur. Dutch almost insisted, saying it would help John take his mind off of the planning before he left. Though he was thankful for the distraction, John couldn’t concentrate enough to catch anything. So he hung back for most of the morning while the other two focused. Both were successful in their endeavours, Hosea catching a deer and Arthur managing a couple of hares. When noon arrived and John still hadn’t found anything, Hosea suggested he pick some of the surrounding berries while he loaded up their haul.

John was grateful for something to do, so he grabbed one of the empty satchels off his horse and began scavenging not far off. He worked his way around the edge of a wood, making sure not to stray too far. Mindlessly, he collected some winterberries, not noticing anyone approaching.

“Hosea’s heading back, I told him I would help you out for a bit before doing the same.” Arthur came walking not far off, tying the reins of their horses nearby.

“Thanks,” John held out his hands, full with berries. Arthur pulled out his satchel slung across his shoulder and opened it for them to be placed in.

“What’s been going on with you, Marty?” his tone was soft, concern creasing his features.

John realized this was the first time since the other morning that they were alone. “What do you mean?”

Arthur scoffed, though his expression was worried, “come on, somethings up. You’ve been spending all your time with Dutch, and when you ain’t you seem real distracted.”

John blinked, unsure of how to respond. He thought to brush it off as nothing, then feared he might not get another chance to tell Arthur. John felt himself hesitating too long, so he told Arthur.

“I have to go.”

“You-what?”

“I have to go. Somewhere. For a mission.” John swallowed, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it but… It’s something I have to do.”

Arthurs eyes dropped to the ground, “oh.”

“Dutch told me it’s something for the gang, said it’s real important. I’m not even supposed to tell you as much as I am.”

John felt lost for words, he knew telling Arthur would be difficult. He went over how this exchange would go so many times in his head yet now that they were here it made no difference. He shuffled awkwardly, wanting to reach out to Arthur to fill the absence with meaning that words could not.

“I wanted it to come from me.”

Arthur nodded, blinking. “I, uh. I’m glad it did,” he looked up at John with glossy eyes. “do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

John sighed, not knowing entirely himself, “quite a few months, from what I can gather.”

Arthur nodded again, hands on his hips. “When do you leave?”

“A week from now.”

“I see.” There was a pause as everything hung in the air between them.

Arthur tilted his head towards the sky, suddenly back to cracking his smile, “God, I’m going to miss you, John Marston.”

John let out a laugh, “thought maybe you’d appreciate a break from me.”

“Never. Not you.” Arthur looked at him once again, the smile fading. He took a step towards John, slowly reaching for his hand. Gently, Arthur intertwined their fingers. John felt his breath catch from the contact but didn’t say anything for fear that the moment would not last.

John dared not move as he became aware of the wind moving through the trees as they stood together. He didn’t want to let go.

“You better send me letters.”

John opened his mouth to answer, but Arthur continued, “they don’t have to be specific or nothin’, and, uh, only if you want to…”

“I will.”

Shock momentarily struck Arthur at what John could only assume was surprise at his determined compliance. Arthur’s expression melted back into his smile. This time it reached his eyes, making John’s heart tighten from the sight.

“I promise.”

“Okay.”

The two of them stood there for as long as they could, moving only when they knew it was getting too late. It was an unspoken acceptance between them as they started to make their way back. The silence felt nice, letting John take in the time together before having his world turn upside down. He reminded himself that it wouldn’t be forever, trying to push it to the back of his mind for the time being. For the rest of the walk back to camp he thought of nothing other than the hand he held onto. And even once their hands fell apart, John continued feeling a tingling sensation across his palms and a smile he just couldn’t seem to hide. For all the concern he felt, he held onto the belief that soon enough everything would go back to the way it was.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trigger warning* 
> 
> There is some physical abuse included in this chapter towards a child/teen, just for anyone who is uncomfortable reading that.
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy the absolute tragedy of a chapter this is! :)

_To Arthur,_

_I hope this finds you. I hope you’re well. I must say I’m not very good at this writing letters thing, not like how you are. I honestly don’t know how you do it. God knows I would rather be the one receiving the letters you write instead. But I promised you I would, so I will. _

_ \- _ _J_

_Arthur,_

_I realized I barely wrote anything last time. I apologize again for making you suffer through these. But hey, you asked for it. It’s barely been a month and I am already longing to return. It’s hard being by myself, I haven’t been on my own in a long time. It’s hard not having you around. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I miss you. I hope you feel the same, or maybe I don’t. It’s not a terribly nice feeling. _

_ \- _ _J_

_Arthur,_

_I must admit, it’s hard to send these letters without getting any in return. I wish you could write me back. I wish I could tell you where I am, and what I’ve been doing. It’s not exciting or anything but I just don’t know what to write to you. I would love to hear how you’ve been spending your days. Probably still getting up to no good I bet. Though, I hope you haven’t found a new partner in crime. _

_Do you remember that time we put poison ivy in Uncle’s sheets? I don’t know how you convinced me to go along with it. He never deserved what we put him through. And I don’t know what we were thinking, the man didn’t shut up about his damn ‘itchy crotch’ for days. As thick as mud he is, too, for never catching on. Even when you made it so obvious with your damn snickering. You are such a bad influence. Sure am missing those days like hell, though. _

_ \- _ _J_

_Arthur,_

_It’s way hotter where I am, I think you’d like it here. Warm weather did always agree with you. I can’t complain too much, it’s a lot better than any harsh winter from up north. The only thing that makes me want to come back to any colder weather is you. _

_How is everyone? I know you can't respond, but I think of them too. It’s just strange not having people around, I suppose. I hope you haven’t died from Pearson’s cooking. How is Nico? I miss her a lot too, you two are the only people I have ever really considered as friends. You better not be bothering her with any of your silly ideas. She’ll kill you if you’re not careful, and I’d rather not return to clean up that mess._

_Nevertheless, I can’t wait to come back and see you both again. _

_Thinking of you often. _

_ \- _ _J_

_Arthur,_

_I can’t tell if the nights are getting better or worse. It feels like it’s been so much longer than it has been. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I imagine you can’t either. And that when I look up to the stars you’re seeing them too. Then I feel like you aren’t as far away anymore. _

_Counting the days,_

_ \- _ _J_

_Arthur,_

_I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I like your eyes. They’re probably the prettiest type of blue I’ve ever seen, but they’re also the kindest. I remember the first day I met you so clearly. You were the only person to look past me as some scrawny, worthless kid or an opportunity because I was decent at pickpocketing folk. You saw me as a friend, and when you held out your hand to introduce yourself I didn’t expect you to change my life like you did. _

John set his pen down, contemplating on where the letter he currently wrote was going. Writing to Arthur had become easy, almost like he was having a conversation with him. Perhaps John had become _too_ comfortable. Bold in what he wrote to him because there were no instant repercussions to what he said in the letters. 

He could say anything. The thought scared him a little.

John took his time to finish the letter, knowing it was the last letter he would send before returning home. A new sense of alleviation consumed him, excited at the prospect of going home finally becoming a reality. He could not help the slight eagerness to hear Arthur’s thoughts on the letters he wrote to him each day.

The feeling continued after he packed the few belongings he had and said his goodbyes to the people he came to be acquainted with over the past year. John could hardly believe it had been so long. A part of him was strangely sorry to leave behind the routine he’d grown so accustomed to. Working at the Blackwater stables had been an easy way of life. The people, though poor, were generous and not unkind to him. He was a little sad to part ways.

Saddled up and ready to go, he waved his goodbyes to the sable workers and hit the road by high noon. Gradually, the desert terrain turned greener and the breeze cooler. The flat and endless landscape grew more mountainous as he made his way further northwest.

Stopping for only two nights, John was restless to get back. He knew the gang to have travelled more west since he was with them last. Not surprised when the camp he found them at wasn’t the same as the last time he was here, but when his eyes frantically scanned the site it was not to scope out their current home.

It wasn’t until he spotted what he was looking for when John breathed out, relief flooding through his body. Perhaps not exactly what, but _who. _Arthur was at the far end of camp, positioned leisurely against one of the tent’s structures. He was in conversation with Nico, cigarette in hand as he gestured while he spoke to her.

As if he felt John’s gaze on him, he looked up. When their eyes met, John smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. Arthur straightened up instantly, eyes wide like he was staring at a ghost. For a split second, John thought Arthur might run to him, but then he saw his shoulders fall. The corners of his mouth pulled ever so slightly downward and those eyes he had waited so long to see again dropped from his.

Without warning, John felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see Dutch. “Hello, son.” His tone was stern, though his expression was what gave John a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He stole a final glance at Arthur in time to see him take one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it aside in a way that John swore almost looked bitter. But before he could process anything he’d just witnessed, Dutch began steering him in the opposite direction.

Once the two were off to the side and out of earshot he turned to face Dutch again. There was an uneasiness in the air between them as Dutch stood with his hands on his hips, avoiding directly looking at John.

“It’s, um... good to see you Dutch. It’s good to be back.” John meant it. It had been so long since he saw any of them. Hosea… Arthur and Nico. Hell, even Uncle was a sight for sore eyes. A year apart from them had felt like ten. All John felt upon his return was a sense of utmost relief, every day since he left spent waiting for this exact moment.

But something was off. In the brief time he had been back, John could sense that something was wrong.

Dutch’s eyes did meet his then, “I’m glad you’re alright, John.” His lips were pressed in a thin line, like even the smallest ounce of affection towards the younger boy was hard for him.

John nodded, “I did what you asked. I found out everything I could about Blackwater.”

“That you did. But there is another matter we need to discuss, dear boy.” Dutch moved closer to John, his gaze hardening and unblinking as he looked at him from a furrowed brow.

The uneasiness John felt grew. This wasn’t how he expected to be welcomed back into the gang. He tried to push it away. Yet before Dutch said the words, John already knew what he was going to say.

“I found your letters.”

John tensed, the blood draining from his face and down his body. Fear seized him as his mind began to race. “I-I don’t-”

“Don’t take me for a fool, boy!” Dutch gave a cautious glance around them after raising his voice. Giving a deep sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he finally looked up at John again, eyes cold.

“Now. I’m going to make myself very clear. And all you’re going to do is listen.”

John couldn’t move, he was scared that if he did Dutch might strike him, or worse. That Dutch might cast him out right then and there without another word. So he did as he was told.

“Not only were the contents of your letters… so _wrong_…” John flinched at the way he practically spat out the last word. Dutch shook his head in disapproval as he struggled to continue, “but also impetuous. You jeopardized the gang’s safety for not one or two but _several_ childish notes?”

“But I swear I didn’t say nothing about what I was doing!” John made the mistake of trying to justify himself, instantly regretting it when Dutch’s features darkened further.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me, boy!” he hissed out. “I told you to _listen_ to me!”

He paused for only a heartbeat, “Those letters were, quite frankly, heartbreaking to read. I wish you wouldn’t do this to me, John.” Dutch hung his head. He looked ashamed to even speak about it.

"To think that you..." He couldn't even say it out loud. “You disgust me, Marston.” His lips curling at the statement, John truly believing it as he said it.

“I have been patient,” Dutch continued. “I have put up with you and Arthur’s naive ignorance well beyond what was deserved. And for what? That you may take advantage of my tolerance? The sheer disrespect you have for your fellow family members and that you have shown me has disappointed me greatly, John.”

Dutch spoke the words with a frightening calmness, but John could tell he was furious by how his hands shook when gesturing. The vein in his temple protruding at the stress of the conversation. John rarely saw him this mad. He knew Dutch was not so fond of him, yet never had this anger been directed toward anyone but their foes.

“Now, here is what is going to happen. My initial response was to see you leave and never return. But because of what you have done for me, for this _family,_ I have reconsidered. Instead, I am allowing you to stay under the condition you act like you did not write a single one of those letters.” Dutch held a finger up to John to emphasize, “you will deny ever having written him.”

He moved so close to John that he could feel the hotness of his breath against his face, “you will cease any vile actions or feelings you had towards that boy and we will never speak of this again. Because there won’t be a conversation next time.”

John swallowed dryly, not daring to move a muscle.

“Do you understand?”

John nodded frantically, blinking rapidly to push away the stinging he felt behind his eyes.

“Good,” with that, Dutch turned to walk away, stopping to turn back a last time. “You should be grateful, boy. For my leniency towards your selfish actions.”

By the time John finally moved from his petrified state, the camp was settling in for their evening meal. The stew ready for consumption by the looks of the eager bustle of people lined up at the pot. 

Mindlessly, John made his way through camp, wanting nothing but the seclusion of his tent. He purposely avoided any eye contact, though as he walked the short distance, there were a few people who called out to him, sharing their relief at seeing him back. Hosea went out of his way to clap him on the back, shaking his shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, son. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

The smile he gave was so genuine that John felt he might break his composure at the sight. He only mumbled his thanks as he slipped out of the older man’s grasp and retreated to his tent. Once he was within the safety of the canvas walls, he moved to his bed.

It was dark inside, so when he moved to light a candle but bumped into someone instead, he yelled out in surprise.

“_Shit!”_

When his eyes adjusted, he saw Nico standing before him with a bowl of stew in her hands. “Sorry, John. I didn’t mean to startle you.” After a second she put the bowl down on his side table. She studied his face, worry creasing her features. “You should eat something. You must be hungry.”

John noted how she looked just the same as when he’d left, finding a strange sense of comfort in the fact. Her dark hair was still long and worn in a messy braid behind her. It brought out the paleness of her skin and the grey eyes that were filled with concern for him.

He blinked at her, heart still racing from her surprise visit. Then suddenly he threw his arms around her. John didn’t know if it was from being away from everyone for so long, or that this simple gesture of hers threw him over the edge. But he couldn’t help himself, trying to hold back crying as he did.

She hesitated for a moment before putting her arms around him. It wasn’t like either of them to do this sort of thing. It was awkward, but she didn’t pull away until John did. It lifted a little bit of the weight he felt since returning, thankful for Nico despite the turn of events that evening.

“We need to talk. But not in camp.” She spoke in a hushed tone.

John agreed by nodding his head and Nico gave his arm a squeeze before exiting. Once she was gone, he sat slumped over his stew, but he held no appetite. He stared into it dreadfully, finally putting it aside. He thought he might unpack his bag instead. Though he had little belongings on his travels, he needed some sort of distraction.

He didn’t want to think about what just transpired. Couldn’t for the fear of what might happen if he did. Eventually, he moved to his bed, waiting to be taken by sleep. It didn’t come easy, never having fluctuated between so many emotions at once. So he pushed all thoughts far from his mind, replaced by a numbness that gave him little comfort, and eventually drifted off. 

-

The days that followed were filled with John reciting everything he had discovered about the town of Blackwater to Dutch. This meant spending hours on end cooped up inside a tent with the man he wanted to spend the least amount of time with. It made him miserable.

He hadn’t seen Arthur since the night he returned. The older boy busy on some pursuit in town with Hosea and another man named Thomas Steels, whom they’d picked up during John’s absence. He didn’t see much of Nico either, though it wasn’t unlike her to constantly drift in and out around camp. Not like how Trelawney did, who only seemed to be around when it suited him best.

Nico had always been independent since the day she started running with the gang. John didn’t know much about her other than she was picked up similar to how he and Arthur were. She, too, was on her own at a young age. A thief by nature, nimble on her feet and scarily good with throwing knives. She was a suitable addition to the Van Der Linde gang.

The three of them being the youngest members, they became fast friends. And though she was quiet and spent much of her time alone, her loyalties never faltered as she always came back to them.

John liked her, and considered her a close friend, but it wasn’t anything like what he felt for Arthur. With Arthur things were different. They shared a bond John never thought was something he was capable of sharing with anyone. Like when he was around him the world was right. John wanted nothing more than to spend all his time with the other boy. Now when he thought about it all he was followed by a somberness at the prospect of things never returning to how they once were.

When Arthur, Hosea, and Steels finally arrived back a few days later, John couldn’t help the relief that came with seeing him again. It was early morning by the time they rode into camp, the day already humid as they were deep into summer. Arthur was next to Hosea, laughing at something he said. His eyes squeezed tight as he held a hand to his stomach. It was almost like how it was before his year away, John’s heart aching as he watched. 

Spending the last few nights restless, John finally convinced himself that he needed to speak with Arthur. He was terrified, of course, but he made up his mind. So with their return, John wasted no time. Afraid that he might change his mind if he waited too long. 

He continued to watch Arthur as he dismounted his horse and made haste to the edge of camp where the coffee was freshly brewed each morning. John approached as he poured himself a cup, not bothering to look up. When he moved to set the kettle back over the fire, John reached out to grab Arthur’s outstretched arm “Hey, wait. I need to talk with you.”

He felt Arthur stiffen for an instant before quickly letting go when he noticed Hosea walking up toward them. 

“Oh, it’s good to see you two back to normal. This place has been too quiet without the likes of you getting up to no good!” John and Arthur both awkwardly avoided looking at each other.

Hosea filled his own cup before continuing, “but don’t pay me any mind, I’ll leave you boys to it.” Once Hosea was gone, Arthur didn’t move but still wouldn’t look at him straight. 

“Please,” John whispered to him. “Come to my tent later.”

Arthur hesitated, “Fine. Maybe.”

Then he was gone again. And even though it wasn’t much, John hung onto the little bit of hope that rose in his chest. It made John feel better. So much so that the next time he went to meet with Dutch about Blackwater, things didn’t seem as dreadful as they usually did.

This time around, Dutch thought it would be a good idea to get out of camp a little. He thought he might show him around town to get him better acquainted.

As they rode out, the sun beat down on John, sweat dripping from the nape of his neck while he followed Dutch down an unfamiliar path. Moving a hand to wipe at it, he glanced over at the older man. He wasn’t sure if Dutch felt as tired as John did, giving no indication with his straight posture and unexpressive features. He was always a hard man to read.

Soon, they’d made it to a quaint farm on the outskirts of a town John had never seen before. If anyone could even call it a town. The place had maybe a couple of buildings and a train station somewhat separate from the rest of the settlement. But most prominently, no saloon.

They left their horses outside, John finding relief as him and the gang’s leader made their way inside the barn and out of the dreadful heat. Inside the air was stuffy but not unwelcome, as anything was better than being fried alive in the sun.

Dutch motioned to a young man working with the horses, “this here’s Reedus, John.”

The man looked up at their entrance, stabbing the pitchfork he held into a bale of hay. He proceeded to dust his hands on his overalls before holding one out to greet John, “pleasures all mine, sir.”

John shook it respectfully, the man known as Reedus giving a goofy smile in return. Reedus was tall and had skin heavily darkened by the sun, no doubt from all the work spent outside. Though John didn’t know what to make of the man, he quite liked him.

“This is the closest stable to our… establishment. This will be the place for all your horse needs.” Dutch lowered his voice, “and other more, how should I say, _discreet_ needs.”

John gave a look of confusion, not exactly understanding what he meant.

“He’s also a fence, son.”

Reedus nodded enthusiastically.

“Ah, I see.”

Dutch turned to Reedus with a polite smile, “could you give us a moment, please?”

The stable boy complied, picking up the pitchfork he'd put down and hurried out the doors. He made sure to shut them when he left, leaving Dutch and John alone.

“Do you know why I brought you here?”

“You wanted to talk more about Blackwater, I figured.”

Dutch gave a huff of laughter, “yes, yes, in a sense I suppose you are right. You’ve told me of your findings there, how it seems a profitable venture by the sounds of it.”

John nodded and Dutch continued, “But do you remember what you did there?”

When John only blinked in confusion, Dutch motioned his arms around in a grand gesture. “Why, you worked in a stable quite similar to this!”

“I did, yeah.” John didn’t know what Dutch was getting at.

“Well, I’m sure something can be arranged for you here if anything were to happen to our dear friend, Reedus.”

John frowned, “I-I don’t understand.”

“I hoped I made myself perfectly clear, John. About our previous discussion. Though, seems that ain’t the case as I heard you and Arthur were mighty friendly towards one another.” He paused, eyes hardening as he looked at him. “Now John, did I make a mistake in letting you stay?”

John froze, panic seizing him, “n-no. No of course not, Dutch.”

“Good.” Dutch pressed his lips into a thin line before finally dropping his eyes. “Then let this be the last reminder you receive, boy.”

John’s eyes were glued to Dutch as he moved to pick up one of the branding irons from the fire. Lifting it, the spoke was red-hot and glowing in the low light of the barn. John tensed as he held the branding iron up. It cast a glow across the older man’s face, twisting his features into something sinister. John knew the image before him would reoccur for countless nightmares to come, his skin crawling from the sight.

When Dutch took a step towards him, John didn’t know whether to run or plead. He did neither, helpless in his presence like he had no choice but to give in, because what would he do? If he ran he would get caught, and whatever was in store for him would only turn into something far worse. 

John only stood in place as Dutch grabbed his shirt, pulling it up to reveal his bare chest. Without hesitation, he brought the hot-iron against the skin stretched over his ribs. The pain was instant, white-hot as he heard the sizzling of hot metal against his flesh. He cried out in pain, grabbing onto Dutch’s sleeve as he felt his knees give out beneath him.

It was over instantly. Dutch simultaneously let go of him and the spoke, both falling to the floor in defeat. He knelt down beside where John was doubled over in anguish, “I just want you to know that you ain’t no son of mine, John Marston.” His tone was hushed but hid no sentiment of his words. Then he stood once more, not even giving him a second glance as he left out the barn doors.

“I’ll see you at camp, boy.”

When Dutch was gone, John collapsed in a pile of straw next to where the horses were stabled. He lay crying for some time, clenching his side. The pain almost more prominent than while it was happening. It was agonizing to move, so he stayed curled up alone with only the pain and his thoughts.

Part of John believed that perhaps what Dutch had done was warranted. That he had brought this upon himself and that he _should _be punished. He was told of the consequences. He risked his place in the gang when he tried to speak to Arthur. Even worse, he risked dragging Arthur into this whole mess.

Though he knew Arthur could do no wrong in the eyes of Dutch, the chance of him getting into any trouble because of John made him hesitant. And that hesitation ultimately led to giving in to Dutch’s cruel intentions.

When the barn door creaked open, John flinched. The small slit of sunlight made him wince as he held up a hand to cover his eyes. His heart rate increased while he waited for his sight to adjust on the figure that loomed before him.

Nico stood at the entrance, wide-eyed as she gave him a once over. Immediately she rushed towards him. “I saw you and Dutch going inside the barn and then only he left and-and…” she stuttered before trailing off, her expression mournful as if she wasn’t even surprised when she assumed what happened next. 

John had never seen her without such composure before, it scared him to witness it. “I’ll be right back.” She stood and left for what only felt like a short minute before coming back in with her hands full of supplies.

Nico knelt back beside him, hesitating for a moment, “is it okay if I…?”

John complied by nodding and carefully lifting his shirt with shaking fingers. She set down what looked like a clean shirt in her lap and unscrewed a water canteen she held in her other hand. Silence filled the air between them as she worked. Gently, she poured the cool water across the burn. He gave a sharp inhale from the sudden contact, her eyes flickering to his in worry.

When she was finished cleaning the wound she started tearing up the shirt she brought into strips, then tied them together. John adjusted himself so his back wasn’t to the floor and she began wrapping the cloth lightly around his chest, making sure it was still tight enough so it wouldn’t rub. Once she was done, she spoke softly to break the quiet between them.

“He hasn’t been the same since you left.”

John turned towards her, letting the words sink in. He didn’t know what to say in response.

“It’s like each day he grew more distant with everyone, he just didn’t seem as carefree as he did before. It was hard to see him that way. Dutch entertained the idea that you had just run off, pretty much convinced the whole camp of it. Arthur was the last to accept it.”

His heart dropped at the thought of all the time Arthur spent thinking that John lied to him. Weeks expecting his letters to arrive followed by months spent feeling cheated. No wonder he avoided John when he finally did show up.

“Well, other than me. I don’t trust Dutch. I don’t think the others see it, though. They are blinded by the saving grace he was for them. They all owe him their lives, but beneath his charm and charisma I see a wickedness that will destroy the people around him.”

John was surprised at her confession. Suspicious, too, that it could all be part of some clever ploy Dutch himself strung together to torture him. Yet he believed her, and maybe he was a fool for doing so but John so desperately wanted for someone else to see him as the man he really was.

“You don’t know how good it is to hear someone else say it.” John breathed out, eyes watering.

She gave him a sad, knowing smile. They continued to sit together for a little while longer before Nico eventually helped John up when he gained enough strength. They rode back in silence, John eternally thankful that Nico had found him. He wondered that if it weren’t for her he might’ve just stayed there forever. 

As they approached the border of their camp, John halted. “Maybe you should ride ahead. I don’t want you to get any unwanted attention from Dutch by being seen with me.”

“Let him.” She didn’t stop, so he continued following her. He had to admire her boldness.

John didn’t realize how long it had been until the sun began setting as they hitched their horses. All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and cry. He was exhausted from a cruel day, but he was also angry. Angry at the world for what he endured, angry at Dutch for treating him like some dog that needed to be beaten into submission. Angry at himself for letting it happen.

John looked across the campsite at Dutch just as he exited his quarters, their eyes locking. He narrowed them at John, then darted them to his side when Nico came up to stand beside him. Her gaze didn’t falter as she stared straight at him.

“Go on John, you should get some rest.”

He turned toward his tent, not daring to glance back. He didn’t relax until making it inside. John tried to push everything from his mind, managing to hold himself together. He was afraid that if he fell apart now he might not be able to put himself together again.

Steadily, he sat at the edge of his bed, careful not to strain his movements too much. In the quiet, he was aware of the stinging sensation underneath the tightly wrapped bandage around his chest. He was so in his head that he didn’t notice the shadowy figure at the tent’s entrance.

When he stood up in alarm, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of Arthur positioned there, dark from the moonlight that cast him almost black.

John had completely forgotten about their arrangement to meet.

At first, he said nothing, to which John only studied him in the little lighting he was given. He hadn’t properly looked at Arthur since returning. His hair was longer and his expression more frigid, but other than that he was the same Arthur that he remembered from a year ago.

“Is it true.” Arthur’s voice shook when he finally broke the tense air between them. John could tell it bothered him that his voice cracked from emotion at the way his hand clenched into a fist at his side.

“Dutch told me you left because you-” Arthur pressed his lips together and averted his eyes before continuing, “you didn’t want to be with us no more.” 

After a moment he looked back up at John, his eyes hardening slightly. “So, is it true?”

John opened his mouth to answer, to say something, _anything_. The image of Dutch in the barn and the burning sensation seized him in a cold sweat. The mark on his ribs a stinging reminder of John’s disobedience.

Arthur looked at him expectantly. But John said nothing. He couldn’t find it in him to lie to the one person he cared for most in the world.

It seemed John's lack of response answered his question nonetheless. His pained expression misinterpreted by Arthur as the boy gave a tight nod, pensive as he accepted John’s silence as confirming everything Dutch spun for him true.

He turned his back to leave but lingered at the entrance of the tent for a moment longer.

“I wish you never came back.”

Stung by his words, John was not able to stop the overflow of tears from rolling down his cheeks this time.

He swallowed dryly, speaking softly so his voice wouldn’t shake and give away his true feelings when he responded, “perhaps that would’ve been best.”

Though he couldn’t see Arthur’s face, John knew him too well. Aware of the way his body slumped in disappointment, realizing the fact that Arthur had a little bit of hope in him, too.

And that’s when John felt it. For all the pain he endured in his life, nothing came close to the breaking he felt in that moment. His world crumbling before him at the understanding that there was nothing he could do to take it back. The long summer nights riding to discover a better spot to watch the sunset together, the times spent preoccupying their boredom by losing count of the stars in the night sky. The recollection of stupid jokes they killed themselves laughing over when they both knew deep down they weren’t funny at all. Nothing could fill the absence of a year spent apart and filled by the cruel lies put in their place. Everything they had built between the two of them fading as Arthur walked away from him for the first and what John knew to be the final time.

Each step solidifying that what they once had was lost alongside every one of John’s letters that may as well have been written in the wind.


	3. Part III

_Eight years later._

“Hey, you awake yet.”

John jolted conscious from a kick to his boot, taking a moment to shake the deep sleep he’d been in. He looked up at Arthur from the chair he was slouched in, “obviously not.”

The cold immediately hit John, despite the many layers he covered himself in. “Jesus, how long have I been out for?” He felt a kink in the side of his neck from sleeping in an awkward position for so long.

“Almost a whole damn day, Marston.” Arthur already moved away before his breath in the air fully dissipated, following Hosea and Javier out the door of the cabin they were in. That’s just how things were these days. Arthur and John scarcely talked to each other, and when they did it was out of necessity more than anything else.

Arthur mostly just politely avoided John like an acquaintance, but deep down he knew the man despised him. John couldn’t help but despise Arthur a little, too. But only because it hurt John to see him so full of spite.

The two weren’t boys anymore. Growing into hardened versions of themselves, something Dutch no doubt wanted for them. John sometimes wondered if things would have inevitably ceased between Arthur and him anyway. Ultimately, he found himself thinking of it less and less in the years that followed.

Arthur was the most vocal towards John when they rode together as a gang. He still avoided him like the plague but used every opportunity to tease him. Not like how he used to, not with a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Now he carried a coldness in his eyes, if he looked at him at all. Tone harsh with words hidden thick in sarcasm, John figured it was the only way Arthur could bear to speak to him anymore.

The gang had grown considerably since their time as kids, too. Some John liked, Javier being one of them, while there were others he could not say the same for.

John stood up, immediately reaching for his side where he’d been shot during their escape to the snowy mountains from Blackwater. The wound wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but that didn’t take away how serious it was. John was lucky to be alive, knowing the only reason he wasn’t six feet under was likely due to some clumsy misfire. 

The same could not be said for some of the others. He felt a pang as his mind recalled the one thing he’d been trying to avoid thinking of.

_Nico…_

He blinked hard to push the image of her out of his mind.

John took a couple of steps toward the weak fire at the front of the room. A few others huddled there for warmth. The Austrian banker, Strauss, and some of the girls were all gathered around. John didn’t know Strauss well. The man seemed a little shifty, so John tended to keep his distance.

He grabbed one of the tin cups and poured himself some coffee from the fire before heading out of the cabin and into the winter air. The day was relatively fine, cold as usual, but fine. The sun was hidden behind the heavy snow clouds, making the sky an eerie gray as it threatened to snow.

Downing the last of his already cold cup, John headed to the stables. He figured it was time to mount up. Hosea had previously asked him to scout ahead of the group while they set up temporary lodging in the abandoned cabins, on Dutch’s behalf of course. He was more than happy to, seeing it as a good opportunity to get away from all the tension for a while.

Everyone was on edge since the events of Blackwater turning sour. Conversations short-tempered as the gang strained to move through the northernmost part of the Grizzlies’ aggressive weather. And though he wasn’t too keen on spending more time in the unforgiving cold, he preferred it to his current company.

“You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye?” John turned to see a woman trudging through the snow behind him.

“Abigail-”

“Well, what did you expect?” They both turned to see Micah, “it is Marston we’re talking about.” The man gave a dirty smirk as he stood off to the side of the stables, leisurely chewing some tobacco.

In John’s opinion, Micah was probably the worst addition to the gang. Nothing short of a greasy man whose eyes lingered a little too long on any woman around and was too trigger happy in almost any situation.

Abigail rolled her eyes, grabbing onto John's arm to steer him in the other direction. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Why don’t you spend a little time with a _real_ man, huh?”

Abigail glared over her shoulder before pushing John in the stables, “never in a million years.”

Micah got up from the pole, spitting to the side. “I sure do love them feisty,” he gave a hollow laugh.

“Yeah, _I _shouldn’t be the one aggravating him,” John said under his breath once they were inside.

Abigail shot him a look, “I just hate that foul, wretched man.” She crossed her arms, looking in the direction they’d come from. She shook her head, anger still twisting her features, “I have no idea what good Dutch sees in keeping him around.”

“You and me both,” he scoffed. “Dutch seems to think he’s loyal enough, and he’s good in a gunfight.”

“So why can’t he send him out?” she pointed a finger out, looking at him directly with piercing eyes.

John turned away, moving toward his horse. “We all gotta do our part.”

“You got shot, for Christ's sake!” Abigail followed him, “let someone else go! Arthur? Bill, Mac? Why not them?”

“Mac’s not even here. God knows if he’s still alive. Besides, I’m fine.” John pulled at the straps of his saddle, tightening them into place.

“No, you’re not! What if you end up like Mac, then?” She was frantically pacing in the small space now, “and you weren’t even going to say anything before you went? What about Jack?”

John turned to look back at her, “just drop it, alright.” Without waiting for an answer, he mounted his horse to leave.

Abigail gave a frustrated sigh, “you’re impossible, John Marston.”

John didn’t respond as he continued out of their makeshift camp and into the white hills. The snow-covered the earth like a thick blanket, untouched by nature and man alike. There was a briskness to the open air, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

He was glad to be away from everyone, suffocated in their presence. Especially Abigail.

He gave a heavy sigh, breath hanging in the air. Abigail was… well. She was a good woman, he believed that. She was also strong-headed, which made things difficult for just about anyone most times.

It was never intended for things to happen between the two of them as it did. John never felt anything towards her, but he knew she cared deeply for him. So when the woman spent all her time following him and telling him he was her boy’s father, John did nothing to stop it. He couldn’t help but feel security in having her around. As bad as it sounded and as aggravating as it was, having Abigail so close to him kept Dutch satisfied.

For a long time, John was bitter over the situation. Most days the two of them didn’t even get along, arguing constantly. He was annoyed at her and resentful toward Dutch. But more than anything else the bulk of his anger was aimed toward himself. His self-loathing may have dulled over the years but he couldn’t help feeling as though he was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole that he would never climb back out of.

Worst of all, it solidified the tear between Arthur and him. John knew things between them were long in the past now, but he’d still catch Arthur starring at the two of them from time to time. John swore he could see a sense of sadness behind his eyes before he’d abruptly look away again. Those moments leaving John wishing that he only knew the truth, and to wonder what could have been.

Eventually, those hard feelings dulled, too. And though they were still present, John truly believed Arthur moved on. With time came a sick sense of healing, until it felt like John had less and less reason to stick around. Yet he still stayed. Arthur might have moved past hating him and forgotten what they once had, but John never fully mourned what was lost between them.

He continued scouting ahead for a while. Not seeing anything apart from the sparse pine trees and untouched hills similar to when he first left the cabins. If anything had changed, it was the air gaining a slight chill to it. John didn’t know if it was from being any further north, or the fact that more clouds had gathered in the sky. Either way, he didn’t give it more thought as he pressed on.

After a while he came up to a high looking mountain, rocky and steep but not an impossible climb. Deciding he might ascend it to get a better view of the land ahead, he rode on. Luckily for him, there was a path along its side that was easy enough to walk his horse along if he took it slow.

He didn’t know what to expect once he reached the top, to see a welcoming green paradise? A safe haven for the gang to retire to? He sat atop his horse looking at the vast nothingness before him and shook his head. There wasn’t anything out here for them and there was no point in heading further.

He could see the light slowly fading as the day was beginning to meet its end. Retracing his path back down the mountain, John decided he should head back to camp. It was nice to be able to think clearly without the distraction of running and the noise of people around him. Lost in his own mind with thoughts on where the gang was headed next. Morally, he had creeping doubts. But geographically he figured now was as good a time as any for them to start making their way down again. Heading east could be promising if they still stayed relatively north of Blackwater.

_Blackwater._

John shivered, not so much from the cold but rather the memory he could not shake. His mind always wandered back to Blackwater and what transpired there. He couldn’t help it, not after what he saw there. It may have only been a week prior to this moment, but in his mind, it was as if he was constantly reliving that day.

John remembered everything so vividly. He knew exactly what time the sun rose and the number of bullets he carried in his gun. He knew every detail. They all did, having planned this particular heist for years now. Everything finally settling into place since he was sent away all that time ago. All the information John gathered while in Blackwater coming into play as they set the stage for one last big job.

Blackwater was one of the larger towns John had seen before, with plans to be industrialized. This meant there would be a lot of money poured into the funding for doing so. He had become quite familiar with the area during his time as a stable boy there, so he knew of a large channel that carved into the city. He also heard about the transportation of boats full of money for a giant bank the town was planning to build.

Everyone had their places, strategically placed by Dutch. After all, he never did anything without an elaborate plan. Dutch focused most of the gang’s effort directly in town but sent Arthur and Hosea to the outskirts to pull off a separate scam. The job was mostly for the purpose of distraction, though Dutch was not opposed to earning a little extra money on the side. John didn’t think it was the best idea and knew some of the others to be hesitant, too. Nevertheless, there was no modifying the plan at this stage.

The main target was the bank, where they knew the money was being stored from the incoming ferries. There was a wide-open space that surrounded the site, which did not prove to be the most ideal for coverage when attempting their retreat. Luckily enough, it was not completely empty, with construction to the building still underway. Shipments of materials and tents scattered the area, though sparse. It was enough for them to work with, at least it had to be since they were in too deep to abandon the job now.

Dutch and Micah were the primary planners of the heist, naturally being the ones to carry out the actual robbery, alongside Javier. Mac, Davey, Sean, and Jenny were positioned at the far end of town. Waiting as backup when the former finished inside the bank. Bill was supposed to be with them too, but was pulled out last minute by Dutch to “hold the camp”. He agreed, reluctantly as it were. 

Lenny and Charles waited by the horses a little ways from the pier, ready to go at a moment’s notice. That left John and Nico to keep guard just outside the bank. Dutch might not have been fond of the two, but he could not deny their skill when it came to a gunfight. Conflict was to be avoided, of course. That was always said more than done in their case. And if the Van der Linde gang was aware of anything, it was that things never went as planned. 

Even after years of preparation, it mattered little. Things had gone bad quickly. Not only did the Blackwater Police get wind of the situation sooner than expected, but they also managed to get the attention of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. 

Under heavy fire from all sides, the group at the bank became scattered shortly after infiltration. Each of them trying to find a point of leverage in the shootout that ensued. John somehow managed to retreat to the pier. Javier made it there, too, John spotting him just at the far side. Nico, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found, much to his concern.

Their situation looked grim, even with the others fighting across town. John knew they were outnumbered, and time was running out. 

John winced at the memory as he recalled the final moments of the heist. It was burned into his mind, never able to forget what went down.

“-Miss Nico, I _strongly _advise you against that.”

John ducked behind the stack of plywood he had run to in time to overhear Dutch storming after Nico just across the small dock they were trying to hold down. Micah wasn’t too far off, either, little difference that it made in their ability at getting flanked. 

John took a moment to glance their way as he hid from the spray of bullets that fired overhead. Dutch reached out, grabbing Nico’s arm. She wrenched it out of his grasp, turning on him and looking furious.

“Don’t touch me. You need to call this off.”

Dutch gave a dry laugh, “I’ll do no such thing.” 

“Then I won’t do this anymore.”

They stood beside the boat station near the water’s edge. John tried to concentrate on their dispute with limited hearing from the chaos around them. As he watched, he could just make out the way Dutch’s jaw clenched.

“You can’t get out of this, we’re outlaws for life. The only thing that frees us is death.” He spat the words out at her, furious.

Nico matched his expression in equal measure, “I don’t want to be part of your cruel design. Your poisoned ethics. You think you are somebody worth listening to. But you’re wrong, and I’m not going to listen any longer.” 

She turned to leave, but this time he grabbed her with a renewed firmness. He pulled her close to him. “Don’t you _dare_ walk away from me, girl.”

John’s hat flew off his head as someone almost shot his ear. He pressed himself further to the ground. Waiting to peer over his cover and fire a couple of shots back. He couldn’t focus, helpless as he struggled to witness the situation between Nico and Dutch not even eight feet away.

Though the two were safe from gunfire, the space between them and John was not. He couldn’t get to them without the risk of getting shot.

“I think the girl’s made it quite clear. She’s nothin’ but a no-good traitor, Dutch. I say you just get it _over with.”_ Micah came up behind the both of them, holding his guns up. John tensed, suddenly desperate to reach the other side. He tried inching closer as bullets continued to rip past him.

Dutch swept his gaze around until they landed on John. When their eyes locked, he was brought back to that barn all those years ago. He saw the same twisted expression that had come to haunt him, so transfixed upon seeing it. He had spent so long giving excuses to it ever being as bad as he remembered. The severity fading so much so that John almost convinced himself that perhaps he over-exaggerated how unforgiving the memory was. 

Instantaneously, he felt foolish for falling for Dutch’s tricks, even after _everything_ John had endured. Him of all people so easily manipulated by a man he thought he was watching like a hawk. A man he held in such low regard already. Yet, not realizing how much he’d let his guard down until staring the truth in the face so literally after all this time.

And as before, there were consequences for not anticipating what he could do. As fast as lightning, Dutch grabbed for his gun and lifted it up, pulling the trigger and sending a bullet straight into Nico’s skull.

“no…_NO!” _John lunged forward. A deafening splash followed and he became paralyzed, too late. He was too late.

The world muted around him, falling into a state of slow-motion as he experienced a deep pain in his ribs. He was surprised at how physical it felt until he pressed a hand to his side to reveal a dark wetness as he realized that he had been shot. 

His vision blurred when he tried to take another step forward. His legs betraying him as he stumbled to the ground.

_“No…”_

He could not move. Suddenly reverting to that defenseless kid from all that time ago. He felt shame for not giving Nico what she gave to him. He couldn’t save her, only watching as Dutch killed her in cold blood.

John fought against the heaviness of his eyelids as he lay with his face against the wooden dock. His vision grew hazy, eventually giving into how faint he felt. He wondered if this is what death was, gladly welcoming the relief that came with it. Anything was better than the horror he’d just witnessed. As his consciousness continued to ebb, his only thoughts were pleading to a God he did not even believe in.

_Don’t bring me back._

He did not care if his body decayed, picked at by greedy vultures. He couldn’t care less. All he knew is that there was nothing left for him to return to.

“Hey, HEY!”

John felt a frantic hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Oh, _gracias a Dios,” _John blinked to see Javier’s relieved face above him. “Come on, my friend.”

“_No. No…” _John mumbled, refusing his second chance at life.

Javier tried to stand him up, “let me help you.”

“Did you… see, did you-Nico-” John strained to speak.

Javier’s brow knit with worry, “I heard something about her leaving and-Micha said-” He cut himself short, looking around anxiously, “come on, give me your arm.”

The sound of a high-pitched howl pierced the air, throwing John back to the present. He was so deep in thought he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings.

_“Fuck.”_ Back on the snowy mountain top, John could see the ominous image of two wolves on the ridge before him. They stood crouched without moving a muscle. Slowly, one of them began to creep toward him.

John could feel his horse tense. He pulled at the reins as he tried to steer them in the opposite direction. When his horse suddenly halted, John whipped his head around to see a third wolf move down the slope to close in on them. The creature bared its teeth in a snarl, drooling from the mouth while it stalked forward.

John waited for one of them to jump out, anticipating it. And when the one closest to him did, he squeezed his thighs together to spur the horse, “Go, girl!”

He was launched forward, pressing his body low so he wouldn’t fly off. He almost thought he was fast enough, too, until he heard the howling at his back. He tried to spur the horse even further but felt her restraint. When the wolves caught up, one nipped at his horse’s leg, causing her to whiney in pain. He tried desperately to calm the horse to no avail. She reared up on her back legs without warning, sending John stumbling off. He landed flat on his back, scrambling in the snow to get back up. His horse darted off without hesitation, tailed closely by one of the creatures.

He remained with two others still circling him. John stood as still as he could while they studied him with black eyes. Slowly, he reached for his sidearm. Once he got hold of it, he pulled it out just as one jumped right at him. John sent his foot to collide with the wolf’s skull, kicking it and sending it whimpering to the side. Holding out his gun, he aimed to send a bullet to the same place but was intercepted by the second wolf. Biting the hand he held out, John yelled out in pain. Instantly, he felt the teeth sink into his flesh. 

Falling to his knee, he dropped the gun to bring his hand toward him. There was no time to sit and well in his agony, so he lifted himself up and fled. He had no other choice but to run, willing his legs to carry him faster.

It was a fool’s belief to think he could outrun the animal, aware of its chase. The one that bit him managed to follow John. And just like before, the wolf snapped at his leg, catching the fabric there and sending him to the ground once more. He faced the animal in time to see it lurch toward him, holding nothing back. It barked and bit at John, who tried desperately to hold it back. Both wrestled on the ground, churning the snow up all around them. 

The wolf clawed at him while he held a hand clamped around its snout. But John wasn’t quick or strong enough to stop its sharp nails from digging into the flesh of his cheek, tearing at the skin of his face. He cried out from the contact, a burning sensation so unbearably painful he thought he might pass out right then and there.

With dumb luck or a sudden shot of adrenaline, John threw his fist with all he could muster against the animal’s head. He heard a yelp, then saw the wolf shoot away in anguish. Wasting no time, he stumbled forward. His vision distorted from the blood dripping into his eyes.

He was still close to the mountainside path he took earlier, rushing toward it and hugging the rock to keep from tumbling over the edge. He made his way to a ridge just beside the path and peered down. It was considerably lower than he was comfortable with. Hesitating at its edge, he glanced back over his shoulder for any sight of the wolves. A distant howl sounded not far off from where he was, making him decide it was worth the jump down. Crouching, he gripped the edge before lowering himself over. When he hung off the side, he squeezed his eyes shut to brace for the impact before letting go. 

He fell on his side, the breath knocked out of him. The snow was little protection against the cold, hard ground. The impact of the fall causing the stitching in his side to become bothered.

_First you get shot at, now you’re attacked by wolves. You are one unlucky bastard, John._ He thought to himself, thinking of how fitting the situation was. Below him was a hundred-foot drop, and above he risked being hunted like prey.

John dragged himself to sit under the slight curve of the ledge raising over him, collapsing against it in exhaustion. The adrenaline wore off fast, the chill of the evening air starting to settle in.

Soon enough he sat shivering, wishing desperately for the supplies left in his horse’s saddlebag. He couldn’t even move anymore as his body began to ache. He tried to shift his attention away from his wounds, fearing he might pass out if he focused on the pain too much. Still, he lifted his hand from where he held his side, fresh blood staining the palm and making him feel dizzy.

For what felt like a lifetime, John sat huddled on the cliff’s edge. In that time he couldn’t help but be reminded of those final moments at Blackwater when he thought he died. He was filled with so much regret. Seems he always contemplated his life's choices when he lay bloodied and bruised, which was too often in his case.

He should have left when he had the chance. Right after Blackwater the week prior, or even eight years earlier when he first arrived at that same place.

All that time spent holding on to dust, it seems, as it all didn’t matter anymore. He was going to die for the gang he had fought for, bleed for, sacrificed everything for. He was going to die for Dutch and his foolish plan.

He was going to die the same way that Nico did, alone. Alone in a sense that was more than just physical. Without her, he scarcely believed anyone would care or notice if he never came back.

He would see her often in his sleep following her death. Her image one that haunted him and shook his very core. They were gruesome, always making John wake up in a cold sweat. Seeing her with half her head missing and covered in blood. More than the fear he felt, it saddened him. Grieving the loss of his only friend. Her death the realization that there was nothing left for him.

John was angry at himself for not seeing how the situation would turn out sooner. That perhaps she might still be alive if he left and convinced her to, as well. He’d never felt more alone than he did now. 

If he left, Abigail and Jack would survive without him. The gang always treated right by them. Nico was gone and… Arthur would be just fine.

Arthur had been just fine for years without John. His heart twisted a little at the thought, old wounds becoming fresh once more. He cursed his own sentimentality. As he sat there almost certain of his death, he could at least admit he still cared deeply for Arthur. No matter how much physical pain John had endured, it felt like nothing compared to suffering their tragedy.

_John?_

He felt he must be dying now, because he swore he could hear a voice from beyond calling to him.

He closed his eyes, holding himself tightly. The cold gripped his body in an agony he’d never experienced before. It hurt to breathe, knowing this must be one of the worst ways to go.

The firing of a gun abruptly broke the silence in the air, making his eyelids flutter open. It took him a second to comprehend the noise. He could scarcely believe someone was out there, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.

“John!” 

When he heard his name again he was convinced of the voice’s legitimacy. Eyes wide now as hope flickered inside him like a flame. Just as fast, it was extinguished. He considered for a moment not calling out for the voice to find him. He did not deserve to be saved. And worse, he did not want to be. 

“_John!?”_

But more than any of his fears and doubts, he was a coward. So after his brief contemplation, he finally did answer. 

“I’m here, down on the ledge!”

His mouth moved slowly as he called out. He listened eagerly for the voice or sound of someone approaching. Footsteps distantly disturbed the snow somewhere above him.

“Over here!” He tried to shout as loud as he could, but felt so weak.

“Marston?” The voice was closer now, “Marston!”

The shuffling got closer as the person finally found John. He tilted his head toward the sound, feeling like he’d aged years from how stiff his joints were. John blinked to focus his eyes in disbelief when he saw there on the slight cliff stood Arthur Morgan staring down at him.

“I gotta say,” John squinted up at his form. “You’re probably the last person I expected to see.” He tried to sit up, crying out in pain as his body screamed in protest.

“Just sit tight, okay? We’ll come to you!”

He closed his eyes, trying to orientate himself as a faintness overcame him. He tried to focus against the pain that consumed him.

The sound of Arthur’s boots hitting the snow beside him made John glance up at him. “Your face!” Arthur’s expression was uncharacteristically worried. John was slightly taken aback at his reaction. At first, he thought Arthur might just be messing with him, as inappropriate of a time it was. But he didn’t crack as he continued to stare at John, unblinking.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Uneasiness crept through him, feeling the skin on his cheek tug and sting as he spoke.

“You’ll be fine.” Someone else spoke, “your face will be the least of our problems if we don’t get you back as soon as possible.”

Arthur cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to the ground. His cheeks flushed from what John could see above the scarf he had tied tightly around his face.

It was Javier who broke the tension that had built, John not realizing that there was someone else with them before he spoke. His attention shifted from the conversation as another wave of pain washed over him and his vision blurred.

Arthur lowered himself in front of John, “you don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel too good, neither.” 

“I’m gonna lift you up,” Arthur reached a hand around him, pulling him up as he stood. “Don’t die just yet, I’ve got you now.” His voice was low as he hoisted John over his shoulder and passed him over to Javier to lift onto the ridge he stood on.

“I’m _freezing,” _John didn’t know if he said it out loud or not, but Javier and Arthur shared a concerned look.

Javier gave him a pat on the back once they both stood, “Come on, compadre.”

Arthur climbed back up and moved to carry John once more. He saw a flipped view of Javier looking at their surroundings. “We’ll have to go a different route back. Come one, let’s try this way.”

Arthur followed him, all the while with John over his shoulder. They followed the slight slope up until their horses were in sight. Arthur set him down once they were close enough so him and Javier could help John walk the short distance. Arthur then broke apart to ready the horses.

John leaned his weight onto Javier, who guided them toward his horse. “That’s twice now you’ve saved my skin, Javier.”

“I know you’d do the same for me.”

John couldn’t help but laugh, “you’re probably the only one left who thinks that.”

Javier shot him a frown, “hey now, don’t say that.”

Once they got to his horse, John reached to climb on with the help of the other man. 

“Put him with me,” Arthur interrupted. John almost thought he misheard until he saw his own reaction mirrored by Javier.

“You sure?” Javier asked as Arthur mounted up. He only nodded in answer, “bring him here, I’ll lift him on”

Javier did as he said, hoisting John up while Arthur held out a hand. He took it and situated himself as comfortable as he could, careful not to strain the wound on his side too much. He pressed a hand there, feeling a dampness soak through his clothes. All the commotion caused the stitches to tear further. 

“I told Dutch you weren’t the right man for this,” Arthur said once they started moving.

“I’m sure you did,” John responded without surprise, wincing as he held his side from the jostling of the horse’s rough movements. He rubbed his eyes with his other hand, completely drained from exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Arthur continued. “Don’t know why he insisted that you go.” 

John turned away, “let me guess, you thought I’d ‘run away’ again.”

“Well it ain’t like you haven’t done it before,” his tone was a little harsher as he responded.

“Enough!” Javier interrupted their quarrel. “Can we just concentrate on getting back in one piece, please? Those wolves can come back any second.”

They travelled through the thick snow in silence, the trees whipping past them. He stopped shivering after a while, even as the sky grew black in their pursuit back to camp. After a short time, John couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. The rhythmic pace of the horse lulling him as he clung onto Arthur. He tried to hold tighter so he wouldn’t fall off but only felt his grip loosen as they rode on. He let his eyelids close, giving into exhaustion. He thought it wouldn’t do any harm to rest. At least just for a little while, he told himself. 

“Marston, hey, hold on, hey!”

“mmmfine. Jussstlittle tired…” John slurred his words as the world around him started to fade. His body slumped forward, having no energy to keep his own weight upright. He felt a bit colder but paid it no mind as the pain already began to dull.

“John!? Oh, _Christ,_ Javier we're losing him!”

“We need to ride faster, he’s lost a lot of blood.” 

John could only hear their conversation faintly, now. _“Hey, HEY! You gotta stay awake, now, okay? Just stay with us, okay?” _

Slowly, sound was lost to him, too. Arthur’s distraught tone the last thing he heard before he was fully engulfed by darkness. As his consciousness was replaced by nothingness, he felt at peace for the first time since Blackwater. The prospect of seeing Nico again didn’t seem so bad, either. Just for a little while, he kept telling himself. _Just for now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a hefty one, I feel like I had to spend a lot of time kindve setting up the story with the time skip and all, but I hope it was still enjoyable!! Lots of thinking and emotions coming from our boi John here. It's been really fun having the POV of John for the beginning of the game, messing around with what he's been through and such.


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's quite a hefty one to unpack, apologies if it's a bit dry... but I promise it's worth it for the end of the chapter ;)

Pain crept periodically in and out of existence for John, alongside his blurred vision. He felt no sense of time and his thoughts were not tangible. The only consistency being the agony of his wounds. His face was hot and sore, causing him much discomfort through his restlessness. He was sure he had a fever from the amount he was sweating.

What John could only assume were days that passed by as he lay bedridden felt like hours for all he knew. Sometimes he could feel splotches of sunlight against his skin cast through cracks from the nearby window and distant chatter of people around him. Abigail’s fussing also made it through the haziness every so often. He preferred to tune it out when he could, wishing she could just let him be. It was bad enough having to listen to her when he was fully conscious. Other than those instances he was surrounded by black.

For the most part, that is. Sometimes John swore he could feel someone’s hand holding his. Rough and slightly calloused, yet so gentle. It was always at night, from what he could tell. When no one else could be heard and the air was at its coldest, making him shiver in his sleep.

He had the creeping suspension that perhaps... _No. _He thought_, there is no way_. Feeling foolish for even thinking it was who he imagined and somewhat hoped it might be. Nevertheless, John always held on tightly, feeling a deep comfort at the contact.

Soon, he started to stay awake for longer than the short moments he could only manage before. He was still confined to the cot he lay on, but he was not in a permanent state of confused slumber any longer. The pain had subsided slightly, yet he still could not move his face too much.

The first time he awoke fully rested, he reached a hand to the fresh stitches holding together the deep slashes in his skin. He winced, partly from discomfort. He couldn’t help feeling a little sad over it, too. It was… strange. This sort of thing never really bothered him before. He’d been shot a couple times, injured in countless other ways and had never thought twice about it. But these scars were deeper than physical, serving as a reminder of how alone he felt on that mountaintop.

Just off to his side, he could see Abigail. Whether her expression was of anger or worry, he did not know.

“Hey.”

Her brow shot up, “_hey_?! Seriously, John Marston, that all you got?”

He closed his eyes, too tired to start this again with her.

“You are a silly, silly man. You really are.” She stood up from her seat, “eaten by wolves. Never heard of such a ridiculous idea.”

She sat down again, clearly indecisive with whether she wanted to leave or continue shouting at him. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really, who?!”

John breathed out through his nose in frustration, his tone curt as he responded, “I didn’t _mean_ to, Abigail.”

Now Abigail sighed as she put a hand on his shoulder. Some of the anger had gone from her voice, “you never mean to but you always do. Always… trouble.”

“Well, I’ve certainly made my mistakes.” John blinked, looking away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she retracted her hand and he felt her intensive gaze on him.

“Whatever you want it to!” His words were a little more vicious than he intended, but he was fed up. He winced from the discomfort of moving his stitches as he spoke.

Her hand was back on him, “just shut up and get some rest.”

Underneath all the aggressiveness, John knew Abigail cared about him. He just could not understand her methods of showing it, most of the time finding her unbearably exhausting.

John continued to stay confined to the small bed for the next few days. He spent that time resting, and when he wasn’t asleep he listened to the people come and go around him. He would hear the hushed conversations between Arthur and Hosea, other times the soothing repetition of Javier sharpening his knife. One time he woke to sound of Miss Grimshaw shouting at the other girls. He pretended he was still asleep for fear of her shouting at him, too.

Throughout all of it, Abigail was always around. She mostly fussed about how foolish she thought he was, but also kept him updated on everything that was happening. When she told him how the gang finally planned to move on, he grew eager. Back down south, she had said, into the state of New Hanover. At this point he did not care where they went, as long as it was far away from the past. The land here was cruel and had already given him too much trouble.

Sure enough, once they were certain there would be no worry of another storm, they set a course south. John did not see much of it, since he was still too weak to do more than walk a few steps anywhere. After Abigail and Charles helped him into the back of one of the wagons, he did not see anything but the shifting of daylight across the canvas cover he lay under. Only emerging once they arrived at their new hideout of choice.

There, the first couple of days had blurred together. He was still not up to his usual strength, especially exhausted from their journey into the new state. He spent much of his time resting while the other gang members settled into the place around him. It was nice. Small, but not bad.

They found themselves in a clearing just beside a cluster of trees that kept them hidden well enough from any unwanted attention. At least for the time being. It had grown a lot warmer now that they were free of the snow, but a chill lingered that still caused his breath to hang in the air during the early mornings.

John had come to know this place as Horseshoe Overlook, having a wide view of the surrounding land. The lush forests and the winding Dakota River had become familiar to him from all the time spent confined there. He couldn’t complain too much, though, as it was a sight to behold. Calming too, with sounds of nature all around him whenever he sat at his favorite spot just at the edge of camp. There, stood a tall oak that he would always situate himself under. Propping himself against an old tree stump with a fresh cup of coffee, either with a book, or his thoughts.

John could almost say he liked it here, but often he was reminded of the circumstance of their arrival. Blackwater always lingered in the back of his mind, lying dormant but never forgotten. He waited for the day where Dutch would properly address the complete disaster and wondered what he might say of Nico. He found himself looking over his shoulder more often, watching out for Dutch and avoiding him as much as he could. It got to the point where it may have even started to look suspicious. But John couldn’t help it. He felt like a coward in his mission to avoid him, but he could not bring himself to look at him.

When a week had gone by and still nothing was mentioned, John thought that the whole thing would pass by unspoken. So when he sat in his usual spot viewing the river below him, he was taken aback when he heard Dutch call for their attention.

“Everyone, gather round.” His voice came from the centre of camp, where he had set up his own tent.

It wasn’t since Blackwater that he had last properly seen him. Since the day he had killed Nico and left John for dead. Because he was at the top of John’s list to avoid, and had managed it well enough, the realization hit him so suddenly. He originally thought Dutch might approach him once they had settled in. That he would corner him someplace to threaten John about what he saw back in Blackwater. To his surprise, it never happened. Dutch never once mentioned Blackwater since before the heist, and John had no intention of asking.

But it felt wrong. Not only for the horrors John faced at seeing his friend murdered in cold blood, but also for the ones they left behind. Jenny and Davey left in unmarked graves back in Colter, and the unknown whereabouts of Sean and Mac. After everything, John was left almost convinced that Dutch had put the whole mess completely behind him, never to be spoken of again. Until now.

When he hesitantly approached, their eyes locked momentarily. The blood in his veins ran cold like he was a deer caught in the sight of its predator. Fear seeped through his body when Dutch gave him a sadistic smile, and already John was preparing himself for the worst.

He joined the cluster of people around Dutch’s tent. Hosea and Arthur could be seen seated next to the gang's leader from recent conversation with him, looking a little tense. Others now stood around them, eager to listen to his speech.

“I just wanted to say how proud I am of all of you.” Dutch held a hand to his chest, feigning a sense of appreciation. John had to refrain from letting his face express how sickened he felt. 

“Things may not have gone well in Blackwater, we lost some dear friends.” He paused to evoke some sort of sorrow around his words. “And we mourn them, we do. But we must stay diligent. We must carry on, or it was all for nothing!”

He looked at everyone pointedly, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his words, “would you have them die in vain? Davey, Mac? Jenny? Poor Sean?”

“We don’t even know if Sean is dead, it just looked like he was captured,” Lenny interjected, a couple of other murmuring in agreement.

“This is true.” Dutch nodded his head, “he may very well be alive. And if that is the case, we will bring him back safely. I promise you all-”

“What about Nico.”

Silence fell over the group as everyone turned to face Charles, who’d interrupted. John was overwhelmed by a sudden appreciation for the man. Charles stared expectedly at Dutch, a couple of others turned to do the same. When everyone waited for him to answer, John noticed Hosea hanging his head. He thought the older man looked ashamed.

“Nico,” Dutch gave a heavy sigh. “She was like a daughter to me.” He looked off in the distance, eyes tearing up. He blinked and returned his attention back to everyone, his gaze turning dark. “But in the end she betrayed me. Betrayed _us._”

He continued, “I regret to inform that it was she who alerted the law to our plans. I do not know what caused her to become a fraud within our midst, to take advantage of our _hospitality,_" he spat the last word out._ "_After all this time to find out she was not who I thought she was.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Her real name was Heidi McCourt, nothing more than a mere charlatan who infiltrated our family for self-gratification,” Dutch spoke with conviction. He turned away taking the opportunity to become wistful once more, “I only wished I’d known sooner.”

The more he spoke, the more worked up John became. _Heidi McCourt? Betrayal? _He felt a hand on one of his, not realizing he had clenched it in anger. Turning to see Abigail, her expression was one that pleaded him not to do anything rash. John retreated his hand away from her. 

“I say good riddance, she was a rat,” Micah snarled out once Dutch was finished. “They always weasel their way into groups.”

Arthur suddenly shot up from his seat. He looked furious, glaring at Micah, but didn’t say anything.

Micah made no attempt to hide his smug expression as he focused his attention on Arthur, “you know I’m right, Morgan.” He snickered a little before continuing, “but don’t worry, rats always get what they _deserve._”

Arthur held a fist at his side like he was about to hurl it into the other man’s face. “At least we can agree on that.” He walked off without another word.

John left, too. Not wanting to stick around to hear the rest of the conversation. Abigail followed, but he didn’t give her a chance to catch up as he pursued the direction Arthur had stormed off in.

He found him not far from the edge of their new camp, his arms crossed as he leaned against a tree.

“Fucking Micah,” John said as he approached.

Arthur didn’t look up as he responded, “don’t get me started.”

“And I can’t believe that stuff Dutch said about Nico, he-”

“Oh, just leave it, Marston.” Arthur cut him off, his tone short.

John reeled back, caught off guard by the harshness of his voice. His surprise quickly turned to anger, “are you kidding me?” He tried to keep the volume of his words down so they wouldn’t be heard, but could barely suppress his aggravation, “don’t tell me you actually believe any of that horsecrap!”

Arthur turned on John now. “Maybe she did deserve it!” he snapped.

John blinked at him. Arthur winced, instantly seeming to regret what he said, “oh, I don’t know.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, turning away.

John could tell he was conflicted. Still, it was no excuse for saying what he did. They had both known Nico the longest, and Arthur’s doubts only confirmed how deep Dutch’s grasp was on him.

John walked away, not sure why he even bothered to try and talk to him in the first place. The impulsiveness of his actions suddenly catching up with him. He got too emotional, deep down still believing Arthur was a good man and knew right from wrong. It was what he might have thought, but was being proved otherwise again and again.

Miserably making his way back to his tent, he threw himself on the corner of his bed. Thankfully, Abigail wasn’t there. He did not feel like talking about any of what just happened with her.

With nothing else to do and a newfound frustration, he decided to call it an early night. Not realizing how tired he was until his head hit the pillow, instantly falling asleep.

When he woke the following morning, the camp was quiet. Much of the gang had dispersed, leaving the place a lot less occupied. Micah was gone, much to John’s relief. Hopefully without the intent of coming back anytime soon, either. Arthur, Javier, and Charles had left as well. Something about them going to check out the nearest town.

John itched to leave, too. He’d become so bored from not doing anything and was once again suffocated from the people around him. He heard the town wasn’t too far away and thought he might finally be well enough to explore it.

Abigail was back to nagging him, and the combined company of Uncle and Pearson was starting to drive him insane. But more than anything else, John felt an uneasiness at the particular presence of someone else. Unlike a lot of his adept peers, Dutch had stuck around. And after his speech from the day before, John wanted to be as far away from the man as possible. The only issue was his means of getting to the town.

John sat in his spot on the stump under the oak tree. He held a book open in his lap but had stopped reading a while ago. Now he pondered on a way to make it into town. Under any normal circumstance, he would take the journey on foot, with it only being down the road. He couldn’t take his horse because… He thought back to the night he got attacked by the wolves.

He shuddered at the memory, remembering the last time he saw his horse. The last image of her fleeing from the predators that stalked him. 

Though, if he was being honest, that wasn’t _his_ horse. His actual horse was still somewhere in Blackwater, abandoned after the unanticipated turn of events.

John was struck by guilt, he hadn’t had time to think about any of it since then, with everything that followed. All he remembered was being thrown on some random horse with Javier in their escape, leaving behind the mare he’d been riding for years prior.

“How are you feeling, son?”

John turned around to see Hosea approaching him, and shook off the memory. He gave a warm smile to the old man, “a lot better. Nearly fine… but not quite there, y’know?”

“Course I know. It must be boring for you, but I’m glad you’ve been letting yourself rest.”

John was nodding, “it’s been a tough few weeks.”

“That it has,” Hosea agreed. The old man looked away wistfully as if preoccupied with something of his own.

“I was, uh, thinkin’ of heading into town.”

Hosea raised his eyebrows, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah, looking to get myself a new mount.” John gave a sigh, “thing is I don’t got no means of getting there.” 

“Why that’s no issue, just take ol’ Silver!” 

John faltered, “It’s kind of you to offer, but… you don’t have to do that on my behalf.”

“Nonsense!” Hosea waved his hand in dismissal, “she’ll be happy to stretch her legs. It’s only Valentine you’re heading to. Please, take her out for me. I insist.”

“Well, alright… thanks, Hosea.” He nodded his thanks after getting up from his spot. Briefly, he stopped by his tent to collect his things, slipping his arms into his coat and grabbing his satchel before being on his way.

He walked the short distance to where the horses were left to graze. There, he spotted Silver Dollar and mounted up. The horse barely even looked up as John lifted himself up onto the animal. The older mare had known John for years now, trusting him almost as much as Hosea at this point. When John was younger, he and Arthur would joke about how the two of them, Dutch, Hosea, and Silver were the original members of the Van der Linde gang before any others had joined. He smiled at the thought, giving the old horse a pat.

John took the hidden path out of camp, emerging from the cover of trees and onto the main path toward the town known as Valentine. The ride there was relatively quick, seeing the bustle of people come into view as the buildings became more abundant around him. 

It was a decent place, with a gunsmith, doctor's office, and saloon, as well as a hotel. There was also a general store and train station, but most importantly, a stable.

Horses and wagons churned through the muddy streets. John rode down them at a steady pace to take it all in. Piano music and loud conversation flowed from the saloon as he passed by. The sound of hammer and steel could be heard off in the distance, too, the town alive with folk keeping busy all around him. He always enjoyed seeing the different civilized places he was brought to. Studying new and diverse people sometimes proved to be even wilder than the western lands that surrounded them. It was fascinating.

John approached the considerably large barn at the end of the main street. He could make out the name painted in white with big lettering across the wood just above the doors.

**AMOS LEVI & SONS.**

Upon entering, the smell hit him before he even saw any of the horses stabled within. “Looking for a horse, mister?”

John turned to see a man polishing a saddle. “Err, yes, I am.”

“Well,” the stable owner wiped his hands on his leather apron, “what takes your fancy? We’ve got Kentucky Saddlers, American Paints... lots of fast ones.”

He thought for a moment, not really knowing exactly what he was looking for. “You have any sturdy ones?”

“Like a warhorse, sir?”

“Sure, something like that.”

The man moved to a stable just across from where they stood. “Well, we got this here Hungarian Half-bred. She’s a beaut.” 

John studied the mare. She looked strong, with a dappled grey coat that stretched across the wide, lean muscle underneath. “She sure is.” He brushed a hand down her neck, “how much for her?”

“Two fifty.”

John almost choked at the price, suddenly aware of how empty the satchel strung across his shoulder was.

“Do you have anything similar for…um, slightly less?”

The stable owner shook his head, “I’m afraid she’s as decent as we get.”

John couldn’t help but think to himself that it was no wonder they’ve always stolen their horses in the past. He left the man with an apology and the lie of a promise that he would be back when he had more money.

With no horse and a newly acquired sour mood, John returned to where he had left Silver. He untied the reins but was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t go back empty-handed, the time would come when he would need to rely on his own mount.

He walked Silver through town aimlessly, eventually wandering toward another couple of barns surrounded by pens full of livestock. Sheep, pigs, chickens, cows, the place was full, putting in perspective just how self-sufficient this town really was. It seemed too many animals were present for it to only be a ranch, though. Upon further inspection, John noticed a couple of men walking around the pens, one with a ledger in hand. It looked like he was counting each animal in their sections, and only then did John realize the whole place must be some sort of auction yard.

As the two men strolled closer, John could just make out what they were saying. “…if we move the pigs into that barn, this area should be good for the sheep we got comin’ in from Emerald Ranch,” the one with the ledger said as he wrote something else down.

The other nodded, taking his hat off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Sounds good. I’ll let the boys know when it’s time. You was saying it were for later this season, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then, if you don't mind my asking, sir, why you thinking about this now?”

“Oh, cause it’ll be a big one, Pete.” 

John listened, all the while making a mental note. He was no sheepherder, but neither was he a complete fool when it came to knowing there was value worth investing, or in his case stealing, in livestock.

“John? John, is that you!” The formation of an idea was suddenly interrupted when he heard his name being shouted. He looked behind him to see a coltish man make his way to where John stood, giving an awkward wave as he did.

“Hey, John! It’s me!”

John squinted, still unsure of who exactly this person that seemed to know him so well was. His memory was struck with realization when the man gave a goofy smile,“…Reedus?”

Reedus nodded with the same amount of enthusiasm John remembered him having. Save for being even taller than before and growing out a wispy looking beard, the stable hand was still the same as when he’d last seen him.

“What’re you doing here?” John asked him.

“I’ve actually come looking to work in the stables here. Amos, the owner, was kind enough to offer me a place. I grew up near Valentine, so I thought it would be nice to be around my ma again. How ‘bout you, what brings you to town?”

“My gang’s hindin’ out not far from the place, seems we are well suited in living a nomadic lifestyle.”

Reedus’ eyes widened, “no kidding! How is Dutch n’ Arnold getting along? And that Hosea!”

John smiled, holding back a laugh at him mistaking Arthur's name. “Real fine, Reedus.”

The man pulled at the reins he held onto, “I actually came by the auction yard tryna sell this here horse. Won’t be needing one since I’ll be workin’ in the stables.” He gave a reluctant laugh, “you wouldn’t happen to be in need of one, would you?”

John blinked in surprise, “uh, yeah, actually.”

Reedus’ eyes lit up, “well, fry me in butter and call me a catfish! He’s all yours if you’ll take him!”

John hesitated, “I… don’t have too much to offer, I’m afraid.”

He waved a hand, “don’t be worrying about that, please, he’s all yours.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Reedus, I couldn’t possibly accept.”

Now Reedus shook his head, “Y’all have always been good to me, I insist.”

He held the reins out to John, who reluctantly took them. “He’s an old boy, but he’s young at heart. Loyal and sturdy, too. He’ll treat you well.”

John didn't know what to say. “Thank you, Reedus.”

They said their goodbyes shortly after, and John made his way back to camp with both Silver and his new horse. Old Boy, he’d decided to call him, since Reedus admitted he never actually had a name for him.

The saddle was worn but surprisingly comfortable enough during his ride back to camp. The horse gave him no trouble and over the next while he’d grown quite accustomed to Old Boy. He took the time to care for him with not much else going on in the following days other than trying to get word of where Sean might be. Only after about a month or so of being at Horseshoe Overlook was there talk of finally getting him back. Trelawny had miraculously popped up again, apparently hearing something about him being caught and held by some bounty hunters near Blackwater.

Arthur had spent little time around camp, but one particular night when he was around John heard him discussing with Dutch and a few others about Sean’s supposed rescue mission. When word travelled, both Abigail and Hosea advised John not to go. He reluctantly agreed, not that he was particularly fond of going back to Blackwater. He just couldn’t help but feel useless at doing nothing but sit around camp. 

After a plan was put into place, Arthur, Charles, Javier, and Mr. Trelawny all rode out. Two days later they returned successful, coming back with worse company than they left with. John didn’t have anything against Sean, but the boy just didn’t know when to shut up. Already he filled the camp with his annoying rambling, though people didn’t seem too bothered. They mostly used the fact that he was back as an excuse to celebrate. So that evening crates of alcohol littered the campsite with people drinking and dancing.

The sound of laughter mixed with music flowed through the night air outside where he sat in his tent. Almost everyone was celebrating Sean’s return, though John didn’t feel too up for it. He was glad that everyone’s spirits were lifted for the first time in a while, but it just felt too soon for him to be taking part in the joyous occasion.

He grabbed his rifle and pulled aside the tent’s opening to leave. Thinking he might make himself useful at the very least, he headed toward the camp border to patrol it. He spotted Charles already at its edge, looking out into the surrounding forest.

“I can take over if you’d like.”

Charles turned to face him as he approached. 

“Thanks brother, but I think I’ll leave the festivities for the others.”

“You sure? I honestly don’t mind.” 

The other man gave a nod of his head, “I find more comfort amongst the trees, no risk of drunken social interaction. You should go enjoy yourself.”

John dropped his eyes, “No, I… I can’t. Not yet.”

Charles gave a look of understanding, “Yeah. I get that.”

The two men stood together in a silence that was not uncomfortable. John always did like Charles, probably because he was one of the few of them who actually had his head screwed on right. 

“You should still go to relax a bit. It might take your mind off things.”

He looked over to Charles again as he continued, “mind you, that doesn’t mean get blind drunk.”

John chuckled at that, “I hear ya. Alright, well, let me know if you want to swap out.”

“Will do. Try to take it easy, John.” Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder before continuing his route. 

John was a little lost on where to go, but as he walked back he could spot Hosea sitting off to the side at a table, alone.

“John, my boy! Come, come. Join me.” His words were already slurred though the night was still young.

He motioned with over-exaggeration to the spot just beside him. John had no choice but to take a seat there.

“Here, here, take a drink,” he forced a beer into John’s hands, sloshing some of the liquid on him in the process. If it were anyone else, John might have minded. But Hosea could never do anything wrong in his eyes, so he didn’t give it another thought.

“You never did tell me how you got on in Valentine, huh?”

“It was good, yeah.”

“Didn’t get into any trouble, then?” 

John smiled, “Hosea, who do you think I am? ‘Course not.”

“Goooood. Good, good,” the older man slapped the table a little. John didn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this drunk.

“That makes _one _of my boys. You know I tried to raise you decent, right? ‘Course _Arthur_ had to go and make some trouble for himself in town, and, and… well, y’know…” the old man trailed off.

“Sure. You okay there, Hosea?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah…” His intense nodding slowly turned into his head shaking from side to side, “No, no…I don’t think so.” He frowned, “You know, I blame myself for Nico’s death.”

John was taken off guard by his sudden confession, he looked around wide-eyed in case anyone has overheard. He had said it a little loud, but nobody seemed to pay them any notice as the others sat around the campfire. Javier strummed away on his guitar, accompanied by the terrible singing of Karen and Arthur. Some others clapped along while Sean was already passed out in the dirt beside them.

John turned his attention back to Hosea, not understanding why he would say such a thing.

“How do you mean?”

Hosea sat slouched over the table now, his giddiness replaced by a somberness. 

“I just.. I should’ve noticed. Something, anything.”

He looked up at John, eyes welling up. His heart twisted in pain from the sight. 

“How could I not notice, John?” He said the words with such remorse, like he was actually asking him for an answer. 

John was lost at how to respond, still not fully comprehending what the man was trying to say. Hosea was back to staring at his almost empty bottle. He looked at it intently and John knew he was somewhere far away.

“If I would have seen it coming perhaps I could’ve prevented her from turning away from us... I always tried, John, I did. With you and Arthur, too. She was misunderstood, I know that. But I loved her like she was my own.”

Worry was replaced by a wave of anger that boiled within John, having to sit and listen to a man who did not deserve the harsh treatment he was bestowing upon himself. Mistaking Nico’s distance for disloyalty when in reality it was nothing of the sort. He wanted to shout out the truth, that Dutch was the one to blame, not him. Yet, John held his tongue as he listened to Hosea blame himself. No matter how bad John wanted to tell him, he couldn’t. Hosea trusted Dutch too much. 

“I cannot believe it. It almost sounds like one of my elaborate stories, doesn’t it?” He shook his head grimly. “Heidi McCourt…” he said under his breath. “And now she’s gone. An old man like me shouldn’t outlive a young girl like her. It just ain’t fair.”

John thought perhaps it might be the drink talking, but it sounded as if Hosea didn’t fully accept her betrayal as being true. Not that John could risk saying anything to him. And the little consolation it was, it still gave John the tiniest bit of comfort. Hosea wasn’t fully convinced, even if he wouldn’t admit it if he were sober, the thought was enough for John.

“Things… may have been complicated, but it wasn’t your fault Hosea. It wasn’t your fault.” He emphasized the statement to try and convince him.

Hosea gave a forced smile, blinking away tears. “You would say that, son.” He gave a heavy sigh before getting up from his chair, “I think it’s about time to call it a night.” Before John could say anything else, he stumbled off toward his tent, leaving John to wallow in the weight of their conversation alone.

The prospect of drinking now became tempting after the exchange. He picked at the label on his untouched beer. The singing had stopped a while ago so the night was filled with its usual sounds once more. People still drank around a fire that was far from burning out, just with much less enthusiasm. He thought he might turn in, too, until he heard someone call out to him.

“Joooooooohhhhhhnnnnnnn Marston,” the unmistakable voice of Arthur Morgan called through the air as John saw his form blundering toward him. 

“Now don’t you start.”

“Ohhhhhh, take that stick out of your ass, Marston.”

He raised his brow at that. Arthur took some uneasy steps toward the table John sat at, sloppily flopping into one of the empty seats. He was obviously quite drunk. John watched his delayed movements as he slammed down the whiskey bottle he gripped in his hand.

His lids hung low as he swayed a little in his spot. As disoriented as he was, Arthur still managed to focus on John. He gave a little smile, and John had to look away. Even after all these years, Arthur could still make him flustered just by looking at him like that. He felt so stupid for letting the other man affect him so much, like they were still young kids sitting on a roof sharing candies. He knew full well things could never be like how they once were, but still his eyes darted to see if Arthur was still looking. And he was.

John cleared his throat, avoiding Arthur’s gaze once more. He looked around them, seeing the low light of Dutch’s tent at the other end of camp. John knew he had retired to his quarters with lady O'Shea quite early.

“Ohhhh loosen’ up, John. Dutch ain’t comin’ out.”

John was surprised by his quick wit despite being far from sober. He was about to respond when Arthur continued. The ramble he went on was one John did not anticipate, making him second guess that perhaps he wasn’t really with it at all.

“So I went to Valentine, right, nd somehow managed to get into a fight.” He raised his hands innocently, “don ask mehow, I do not know. But we was fightin’ and this guy, this BIG guy was comin atchu from what I could see from the corner of meye, since, uh, this other sonovabitch was comin at me. But I knocked him out in one punch, so I go, ‘don worry Jahn, I gotchu!’”

Arthur paused to wheeze, “but it wasn you! It was Javier, nd he looks at me like whaaaat? Nd then BOOM, gets hit square in the jaw, nd. Well, I just. It sounded funnier in my head.”

Silence followed briefly after he finished. John could now make out the cut that split Arthur’s bottom lip, and how it was slightly swollen. John eventually responded, “… well, did you get the guy?”

Arthur blinked, eyes wide like he was reliving the tragic event all over again, “let’s jus say things escalated nd we nded up takin' the fight outside.” His voice drifted off slightly, “it were real muddy.”

“That sounds like quite the trouble you got into.”

“It weren’t jus me! Charles were there, too. Nd Bill, mmpre sure he started it. Nd you’s was there! Expect it were Javier stead o’ you.”

Arthur pressed his lips to the bottle of whiskey, and John almost missed it as he mumbled, “you never come no more.”

John was sore just from the thought of the brawl. “I don’t think a bar fight would have been the best thing for me in my state.”

Arthur nodded, “mmprobably best.”

Another pause followed, John finding a certain comfort in their silence. The only source of light came from the low burning candle placed in the middle of the table, flickering across Arthur’s face and making his features dance.

_It would be so easy to tell him._ John didn’t know why the thought suddenly struck him. Maybe it was after everything he had gone through in the short span of the last couple weeks. Nico getting killed so easily and John’s close brush with death combined, it all just made life seem so fickle. To just put it out in the air was so tempting. He doubted Arthur would even remember the following day.

_Dutch lied. About everything. I cared for you. I still care for you. I wrote you a letter every damn day and he burned each and every one of them to stop you from ever knowing…_

Deep down John knew he wouldn’t say it. It was selfish. He couldn’t drag Arthur into all this, not now. Even if he did believe John, it could cause catastrophe, swaying the very foundation of the gang they’ve dedicated their lives to.

Perhaps after all this time, it had turned into John protecting Arthur from the truth. To avoid any more unnecessary damage. John already felt broken to the point beyond repair. But Arthur, he didn’t deserve to have his life completely turned upside down. For everything he knows to be a lie. At this point, it would just be a burden for him to know the truth.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, John didn’t notice Arthur moving closer until he took up most of his vision. John blinked back to reality, noting the way Arthur focused his attention on him, squinting his eyes a little as if he were trying to study John.

“Yur heal scarred up pre well.”

It took a second for John to understand what he meant, then he snorted, “you mean my scar healed up pretty well?”

Arthur frowned in confusion, “isn’t that what I said…” 

John cracked a smile, unable to stop himself laughing at Arthur’s drunken foolishness. Arthur began laughing, too.

“What’re we laughing at?” Arthur asked him.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re laughing at, but I’m laughing at you. You’re ridiculous.”

It took a moment for Arthur’s stupid grin to slowly disappear as he processed what John had said. “Hey, thas not very nice of yoummarston.”

“Apologies, Mister Morgan.” John tried to keep himself from seeming too amused, his efforts futile as he cracked up once more.

As if he had already forgotten, Arthur joined in again. He slapped his knee like John just told the funniest joke and the world seemed to stand still around them, making him briefly forget about all his troubles. It was nice. Too nice, like it was too good to be true. John felt like they were teenagers again, getting up to no good with the fear of being caught by a scolding adult, all while acting like they could conquer the world. Talking similar to how they once did sparked that same nostalgic courage, like they could do anything. But they couldn’t, and the moment passed just as fast as it had come.

“I should, uh, go.”

“Yeah, alright, Marston. You always do.” He said knowingly, taking another swig of his whiskey bottle.

It was hard to get up from his seat. John wished he could let the moment last, but it felt…wrong. He didn’t want anyone to see the two of them like this. So he just smiled and turned away, slowly letting it fall away from his lips when his back was to Arthur.

He did not know whether it hurt less or more to talk with him like it was old times again. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but it was a harsh reminder of what he could not have. A taste of what they once _did _have. And it only left John desperate for more. It was dangerous, he knew, and much too risky. And he knew It couldn’t happen again.


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll know what happens when you don't get that oil wagon in chapter 2?

“John, John!”

John’s heart dropped when he heard his name being called and squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself. After letting out a deep sigh, he opened them again and turned around to see Uncle approaching him.

“What do you want, Uncle.”

It had been another week or so without John leaving camp and he was slowly going crazy. He didn’t know if it was from feeling better and itching to leave or if his current company had finally made him crack.

“Oh, now don’t be like that! I actually had some information you might want to hear, considering you’ve just been sitting around since we got here!”

John couldn’t bear to listen to the old drunk. “Don’t talk to me about sitting around, old man. I know someone who’s quite good at that.”

“Hey, I do my fair share, like getting this information! So do you want it or not?”

John sighed, flatly responding, “what is it.”

“Well, see, Mary-Beth told me about this train,” Uncle shoved a map he seemed to materialize out of thin air into John’s hands. He carefully unfolded it, not sure where exactly Uncle had been storing it. 

“I told Arthur about it but I’m not sure he was listenin’, you might convince him though. You two always did make a great team! It would be a good score, I’m tellin’ ya!”

John narrowed his eyes, “you just want the credit for it.”

“_I_ just want to help out, is all!”

John sighed, looking down at the map. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t be so sour! Just think about it at least, jeez.”

“Fine.” John put the map away in his pocket, “I’ll think about it, but I’m not promising anything.”

Uncle wandered off while John thought for a moment longer. As much as he hated to admit it, it did seem like a good job. And with his lack of doing pretty much anything, he wasn’t in much of a position to be picky 

So in the days that followed, John continued going over the map that Uncle gave him and trying to turn it into something feasible. Eventually, he started to believe that the idea had some potential. With something solid in mind, John was left with deciding who would accompany him to do the job.

His initial thought was Arthur, but he quickly pushed the idea out of his mind. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t need him, seeing as it probably wasn’t a good idea to get him involved. 

He knew the job needed at least three people, so naturally Charles was his first choice. But as for a third, John had no idea who else he could bring. Javier would have suited the role, but when John asked him about it, the other man informed him that he was already preoccupied with a job of his own. Something about a farm robbery not far from where they stayed.

“Sorry compadre, you know I would run with you anytime.” 

John assured Javier that it wasn’t a problem, though he was running out of options for other people he trusted well enough to partake in the heist. His mind wandered back to the one person he knew would be perfect. He cursed to himself, Arthur was the best suited to aid them. John knew it, and he couldn’t fool himself otherwise. Slowly accepting that, he concluded that he might just have to ask him. 

John paced around the small area inside his tent, going back and forth in both his movements and his thoughts. If he was being honest with himself, he would prefer Arthur to take the lead for the train robbery, anyhow. He trusted the man could pull it off better than anyone else, including John, and would rather leave it in his hands.

Outside his tent, multiple voices could be heard, with Arthur’s mixed in between them. Thinking he might catch Arthur before he was absent from camp once more, he moved toward the opening of his tent. He didn’t want to give himself more time to think about the situation or back out of asking Arthur, so John quickly exited in search of where their conversation was taking place.

Upon leaving, he heard a commotion going on where the O’Driscoll boy they'd held captive was kept. Peering over toward the source of all the noise, John could make out Dutch, Bill, and Arthur surrounding the tied up man. John hadn’t really paid any attention to him until now, not even knowing his name. He avoided going near the O’Driscoll boy for the most part. Abigail had mentioned him a couple of times, saying she almost felt a little sorry for him. She had even admitted to giving him water when the weather had been particularly hot. 

All John knew about him was that he was an O’Driscoll, a bit pathetic, and someone Dutch took pleasure in torturing. And as much as John didn’t want to admit it, the fellow kind of reminded him of himself. He thought of how Abigail seemed to have a soft spot for types like them, _goddamn fools._

He watched the group as they harassed the O’Driscoll, John thinking that perhaps this wasn’t the best time to make himself known. Dutch motioned to Bill, who seemed all too pleased to oblige to whatever Dutch had proposed. Beside them, Arthur stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. It was clear he did not share the same enthusiasm as the others for whatever it was they were doing. 

Only a moment later did Bill return with a pair of gelding tongs and a look in his eyes that showed he was enjoying this all a bit too much. Dutch proceeded to yank down the O’Driscoll’s trousers in humiliation then waved for Bill to come closer. 

“You sick bastards!” The O’Driscoll yelled while struggling against his restraints.

Dutch paid his pleading no mind as Bill took his time inching ever so agonizingly slow toward him, snipping the tongs with every step he took. The O’Driscoll flinched each time, and even John could see him begin to tremble.

“Dutch,” Arthur rasped, wearing a frown, “do we really have to?”

Dutch didn’t even look as he responded, “patience, Arthur.” He had a glint in his eyes that made John shudder. 

“Fine-FINE!” the O’Driscoll stammered out, his eyes tearing up. “I’ll tell you everything I know!”

Dutch laughed triumphantly, catching John’s eye as he did. Without breaking the stare he put a hand on the tongs Bill held out, lowering them.

“Awh, can’t we do it anyways, boss?”

“No,” Dutch spoke, a menacing smile pulling at his lips. “He has no sins to hide.”

John finally broke their eye contact, turning away from the group. He was aware of how fast his heart was beating in his chest as he tried to walk away from the scene, suddenly finding it hard to put one foot in front of the other. He could feel the sweat on his palms and rubbed them against his pants. 

He retracted back to his tent in fear of meeting Dutch’s gaze again. The safety inside the canvas walls was short-lived when he heard a voice behind him.

“Enjoy the view, did you?”

John jumped, looking back to see Dutch standing at the entrance. Even though John was terrified of the man, he felt his cheeks grow hot from anger, angling himself away to avoid his stare. 

When he didn’t answer, Dutch continued, “hmmm, I’m sure you loved to see that. Someone like _you, _that is.”

Still, John stayed silent. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an argument but also scared of what might happen if he did respond.

Dutch gave his lack of response little mind, only continuing to prod at John further. “It’s a shame Nico isn’t here to protect you any longer.”

John flinched when he said her name, clenching his jaw. 

“No worries though, the O’Driscoll can be your new best friend. His name’s Kieran, by the way. I’m sure you’ll get along jusssst fine.”

Dutch dropped his smile, “anyways, I want you to go with Arthur, Bill, and that O’Driscoll boy to Six Point cabin. There is word Colm could be close.” He paused for a moment, “oh, and I want you to be the one taking Kieran on the back of your horse.”

John whipped his head to Dutch, not able to stop himself. He thought about protesting before he met Dutch’s icy stare. It bore into him, yet he swore he could see an underlying amusement there, too. It was as if he were purposely trying to rouse John into disagreeing with him. So instead John stood up, grabbing his gun belt and coat in compliance. 

Reaching the tent's entrance, Dutch’s voice made him falter for a moment longer. “Birds of a feather, John. Who knows? Perhaps the two of you will run away together.” His voice lowered to that of a sneered whisper, “though, this time maybe it would be best if you didn’t return.”

Figuring he’d heard about enough, John pushed through the tent’s opening and hurriedly made his way to where Arthur and Bill waited. He was interrupted when Abigail came out of nowhere and practically jumped in front of him.

“John-where are you going?”

“Out.” He tried to move past her, but she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I thought maybe you could take Jack fishing, the boy wants to see you, John.”

He shrugged her off, “no-just-leave it be, woman.”

She didn’t try to stop him the second time as he walked away from her. He didn’t look up as he mounted his horse, his movements a little stiff as he did so. He was more than ready to get out of there.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Wasting no time, John helped Kieran onto his horse and spurred Old Boy toward the direction he was told to go. The others followed closely behind as the O’Driscoll led them along the path toward Valentine. 

“Take a left up here,” Kieran pointed at an overgrown path exiting into a densely wooded area. John slowed his horse as the terrain became less regular. He could make out Arthur riding up beside him, who looked over at John. 

“You alright, Marston?”

“Fine,” he answered while keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

The more distance John put between him and camp, the better he started to feel. It was nice to ride out together with the others and do something other than sitting around. He tried his best to push away his short interaction with Dutch. The things he’d said… John only just started to relax once his hands stopped shaking. He wanted to tell himself it was from anger but knew it was more than that. 

Soon they made it to a clearing littered with tents and supplies, with a cabin at the far end. There was a smoldering fire with food and drink left out like it was only recently abandoned. Clothes hung on wires left to dry but even with everything going on there wasn’t a single person in sight. John sent Arthur a questioning look, to which the other man only shrugged.

“Whatchu expect, that we’d actually find Colm here?”

John squinted, suspicious as he scanned the clearing, “no, but I thought we’d at least run into some of his men.”

Arthur dismounted, everyone else following suit. “We should look around, maybe we can find some idea as to where he ran off to.” When Kieran didn’t move from his spot, Arthur gave him a stern look, “that includes you, O’Driscoll.”

Kieran nearly jumped out of his skin before scampering after Bill to search the site. John only shook his head and pulled his rifle out from Old Boy’s saddle, slinging it across his shoulder.

“Nice new horse, by the way.”

John turned around to see Arthur still stood there. “Thanks.”

The two of them walked together toward the clearing in awkward silence. John thought back to the train heist and asking Arthur about it. Now was the best time to say something. He fidgeted with the strap of his rifle. 

“There’s this train-”

“About the other day-”

They both cut off what they were about to say, waiting for the other to continue until a bullet whizzed by their heads and the conversation became an afterthought, their heads snapping to the source.

Bill ran to where Arthur and John stood, throwing himself behind a tree for cover, “get behind something, it’s a damn ambush!”

John ducked behind a log, clenching his rifle in his hands. He looked up just in time to see Arthur find cover behind another tree and immediately start firing his revolver. O’Driscolls appeared out of the woods, surrounding them. They were outnumbered but John was quite confident in their odds seeing as the rival gang was up against at least two adept gunslingers. 

John peered over the edge of the log, locking onto one of the men and quickly releasing his breath as he pulled the trigger. He moved onto his next target before the first even dropped to the floor. 

“Cover me, I’m gunna get closer!” Arthur called out before moving from his tree to a couple of crates not far from where John knelt. As he did, John quickly reloaded and stood to shoot an O’Driscoll who had the same idea of advancing. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another appear from behind an old tent to aim at Arthur. The man’s intention was short-lived as he dropped to the ground a moment later and John reloaded a couple of bullets. 

Steadily, they picked off the opposition until a few stragglers were left, who chose to leave with their lives rather than face the same fate as the others. 

“Whoooie! Look at ‘em run off!” Kieran called out as the last few just made it out of sight. 

“You’re quick to change loyalties from the men you once fought alongside, O’Driscoll.” Arthur searched the pockets of a fallen enemy, shooting Kieran a look of judgment.

“I keep tellin’ y’all, I ain’t no O’Driscoll.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, but John could see he wasn’t convinced. 

“Nice shooting there, Marston.”

John only nodded his head as he scanned the ground. He turned over a container in search of anything worth taking. 

“You had mentioned something about a train before, uh, you know.”

John looked up, “oh, yeah. Well, Uncle told me something ‘bout a train that’s gunna be heading through Scarlet Meadows real soon. It’ll be at night, not too heavily guarded from what I hear. It’ll be good, plus-” John cut himself off. _Plus it would give me a chance to start doing something, _he thought to himself.

“Hmmm,” Arthur scratched his beard, looking doubtful.

John got up from where he knelt, “we’ve done it plenty of times, it’ll be good money.”

Arthur squinted in thought “Yeah but… stopping a train? Pain in the ass.”

John was prepared for Arthur’s hesitation, having spent a while going over the plan in his mind. He continued excitedly, “sure, but what if we could _force_ a train to stop.”

Arthur gave a chuckle, sarcastically responding, “well, of course.” 

Arthur knelt beside another body to loot, assuming the conversation to be over. But John persisted, moving closer to keep his attention. “I’m serious, look, we get a wagon, a wagon full of something flammable-say oil. Put it on the tracks,” Arthur stood, nodding his head slightly as he listened to John.

“Only two choices, they know they’ll either have to stop or die.” When John finished Arthur looked at him, unblinking.

“So?” John continued, “you in?”

Arthur gave a breath of laughter to which John furrowed his brow in confusion, “that is… kinda brilliant.”

Whatever John was expecting, it wasn’t that. He quickly avoided Arthur’s gaze, looking to the ground.

“Uh, for you that is.” Arthur cleared his throat, “you know, for someone who’s brain is half-eaten by wolves. But I think that’s the first time you came up with a decent plan!”

John rolled his eyes, “shut up.”

“No, I’m serious! How did you manage to end up MORE intelligent!?” 

John waited for Arthur’s chuckling to die down, “so we doin’ it then?”

“Sure, sure. But were gunna need ammunition, guns, and probably some dynamite to crack open that train.” He listed the items off with his fingers. John nodded along, “I can get those from town if you focus on getting us an oil wagon, I can go there now assuming I’m not needed here anymore?”

“Sounds like a good plan, Marston,” Arthur smiled. “You sure you don’t want to head back with us?”

“Nah, I only just got out of camp. I’d like to enjoy the serenity of being away from it a little longer.”

Arthur gave a nod of understanding, “sure, I get it.”

“Alright then, I’ll catch up with you later.” John started walking back to his horse as Arthur tipped his hat in farewell. When John knew he was at a safe enough distance, he let himself smile. As much as he knew he shouldn’t let it mean anything, a little bubble of excitement swelled inside his chest. 

He rode Old Boy into town and straight to the gunsmith, picking up the necessary equipment to get the job done. He made sure not to forget the dynamite before leaving, too, as it would be crucial to their plan. After thanking the owner and heading back outside, he noticed that it had started to rain. 

By the time John made it to the end of the street the rain turned from a light drizzle to what looked like buckets coming down. He made it to the hotel and ducked inside, shaking himself off a bit. Thunder rumbled in the distance, making John reconsider travelling back to camp.

“Can I help you, sir?”

John turned around to see a young woman stood behind the front desk of the hotel. He gave her a smile and a nod, “as a matter of fact, do you have any rooms available? I’ll take anything you got!”

The woman returned the smile, “why, of course! I’ll show you to your room, it’s just upstairs.”

John entered the room, making sure to thank the lady as he did. He looked around the room, it was quaint and small and not at all what he was used to. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in a proper bed, waking the next day with an energy he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

He spared no time in making the trek out to the train tracks near Dewberry Creek. It was located some ways past camp, but John thought it was worth scouting out the area, so he headed southeast out of Valentine. He passed the opposite side of Citadel Rock into the open plains. The sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight, the rain from the day prior long gone. He breathed in, thankful for the warmth of the sun with the cool wind in the air. It was perfect. 

By the time he arrived and studied the spot, the sun was hanging considerably lower. John aimed to find the best spot to ambush the train, eventually finding a dense cluster of trees just beside the tracks. When John was satisfied that this location was suitable enough, he began riding for camp. He was eager to return, wondering if he might go over more details with Arthur.

Upon his arrival back, John could smell the scent of stew being passed around for dinner. He quickly hitched Old Boy, not realizing until that moment how hungry he was. The usual bustle surrounded the stew pot as people grabbed a bowl and sat together around tables and tents. John strained to see if Arthur was amongst any of them, disappointed when he thought he spotted his blonde hair only to reveal Micah. He couldn’t help his face from twisting in disgust, disappointed to know of his arrival back.

“Looking for someone, brother?”

Charles approached John with two bowls of stew in hand, offering one to John. He took it gratefully. 

“Yeah, have you seen Arthur around?”

Charles shook his head, moving to sit near one of the campfires. John followed, sitting across from him. He was thankful it was just the two of them.

“He left early this morning. Did you need help with something?”

John couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that Arthur was gone once again. He tried not to let it get to him, pushing it deep in his mind.

“Actually, Arthur and I are doing a train heist and I’ve been meaning to ask if you’ll join us, too. We could use someone like you, Charles.”

“Sure, anytime.”

John smiled down at his stew, taking another bite. 

“You seem surprised.”

John looked back up at Charles, “I suppose I am. You never hesitate to offer your help.”

“Only with those I find worth offering that help to. For you, it’s an honor. As honourable as you can be amongst thieves, that is.”

John raised his eyebrows. He was not expecting such high praise from someone like Charles, who he thought was better than any man he knew combined.

Charles continued, “it’s hard to find good people, and I mean wholeheartedly _good_ people, John. I see it in Arthur, even though he doesn’t see it in himself… I saw it in Nico.” Charles looked up at John, “she always did try to look out for those she cared about.”

He paused, then gave a slight chuckle, “I see it in you, too. Though I have to admit it took me a little while to fully understand you.”

John let out a snort of laughter at Charles’ words. A moment later, the smile faded from his lips. “Can I ask you something, Charles?”

When Charles nodded, he continued. “Why did you join us? Why did you follow Dutch?”

Charles steadily set his bowl down on the ground, then sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I ran on my own for a long time. I did fine, too, but it makes life more difficult. The world is a lot crueler when you’re alone in it. I spent most nights worrying that someone might kill me in my sleep. Running with Dutch, well. Dutch is different. He treats me fair, he doesn’t see me for what others hold against me. Most of you don’t, so here I am.”

John nodded, swallowing dryly, “I see.”

He sat with Charles a while longer before departing for the night. He lay staring at his tent ceiling for what felt like hours. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Charles had said about Dutch. It was disconcerting. To be reminded of how deeply rooted people's faith in Dutch was. He wondered how someone like Charles could see such morality in John. And Arthur and Nico. Yet, he also trusted in Dutch. It made John feel sick, knowing the deceit that lay there instead. 

He’d spent so much of his childhood seeking Dutch’s approval, to be praised by him. And what for? So he could fall in line with the others to be blindly shepherded along like lambs to the slaughter? Still, a part of him yearned for that validation. It was twisted, and cruel to subject himself to the thought, but it was present nonetheless. No matter how much he might deny it.

The following day there was no sign of Arthur. John didn’t expect to see him return so soon, but he had held onto the slightest hope that he might’ve been proved wrong. When one day turned into two, and two days turned into a week, John became anxious that Arthur wouldn’t come back soon enough.

John mostly preoccupied himself by going over the plan. He talked with Charles, too, which helped ease his mind slightly. After a few more days passed and there was still no word from their third party member, John started to grow a little annoyed considering the train was due in three days' time. 

On the morning of the heist, John was pissed. The previous day, he ended up taking matters in his own hands by securing an oil wagon by himself as he felt he couldn’t trust Arthur in appearing out of thin air to say he found one. 

John sat at his usual spot under the oak tree. He held a cigarette in one hand and the map Uncle gave him in the other. He looked over the marked X where the train tracks crossed over the road like he had countless times before. He had gone over the plan again and again in his mind, determined to do it right when the time came. 

He brought the cigarette up to his lips, thinking of how little his efforts were met by Arthur. He blamed himself for thinking they could do this. It was too good to be true, John knew that now. He just wished he didn’t try to trick himself into believing otherwise so that he would’ve saved himself the trouble of trying. That, and the sinking feeling he had since coming back from Valentine. 

He folded the map up and stuffed it in his pocket, not paying attention to it anyways. He was angry with himself that he was so upset over the whole situation. He didn’t know what he expected to get out of it all. To try to be closer to Arthur? Physically, since emotionally was never an option. In all the past eight years that idea had never gone well. So John didn’t understand why he thought that could change. 

John could hear indistinct conversation coming from the edge of camp, which he paid little mind in his deep thought. That was until he heard what he thought was Arthur’s voice reply. John’s head snapped up, thinking his ears may have deceived him. To his bewilderment, there Arthur stood in the flesh. 

John took a long drag from his cigarette while he watched Arthur hitch his horse. As if he felt his eyes on him, Arthur turned his head toward him. John quickly looked away, scowling as he did. He heard his footsteps approach but still refused to look up when they stopped in front of him. 

“Hey-”

“You never got us that oil wagon, did you.” John finally did look up at him, flicking the cigarette away after blowing out his last breath.

It took a second for Arthur to register what he said, “Ah, I’m sorry,” he gave a little chuckle. “I clean forgot.”

“Are you? Sorry?” John shook his head, “nevermind.” He stood, “it’s taken care of, anyways.”

He moved to walk past Arthur, “otherwise we’d miss that train.”

Arthur took the few steps with him, opening his mouth like he was going to say something then closing it. John stopped to turn to him again, “are you still interested in the job? Cause if not I’m sure I can-”

“I am.”

John nodded, “okay then. Well, good.”

When neither of them said anything further, John continued on his way. 

“Er, Marston-”

John faced him again but didn’t say anything. Arthur continued, “thanks… for getting it, by the way.”

John stared at him without saying anything, he blinked and without thinking blurted, “maybe we shouldn’t do this job together.”

It was a joke to have thought he could work jobs with Arthur again. He thought perhaps things were good enough between them that they might be civil. But the tension was there already, and it would only continue to build. The two didn’t work well together anymore. John’s heart dropped at its realization and from the look of surprise on Arthur’s face.

“You take it. Get Charles and Sean or someone to go with you. You don’t have to give me a cut, either.”

“What, why? Is this because I didn’t get the damn oil wagon?”

John winced at that, “No. It wasn’t. But it was _your _job to get it.” He felt his frustration rise, like a fuse that had been waiting to be lit upon Arthur’s arrival.

“You know, I’ve been pretty busy running all over the damn state. Perhaps you should’ve gotten it in the first place, seeing as you’re not preoccupied by much these days.”

John scoffed, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Since when does John Marston finish anything he’s started. Maybe I will take Sean with me, seeing as he’ll be a good replacement for your incompetence to see things through!”

John raised his hands in frustration, “I’m not talking to you like this, Morgan.”

Arthur laughed dryly, “go on then, run away like you always do when you can’t handle it.” 

John gave a look of disbelief, “are you joking? Can’t handle it? _You’re _the one who didn’t bother getting the damn oil wagon! _I _actually want this job, believe it or not!”

“Yeah? Well what’s it like being disappointed?”

Their yelling immediately ceased, the air growing quiet like the silence that follows the crack of a whip.

John blinked, “what?” 

Arthur hesitated for a second before his features hardened, “maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t work together on this.”

Not waiting for a response, Arthur turned and walked away, leaving John behind in the quiet aftermath of their argument. Alone and with nothing but a boiling anger that grew inside him, John turned too, stomping off toward the direction of his tent.

Without stopping, he grabbed his coat and left again. He found Old Boy and mounted the horse, steering him out of camp. Spurring to go faster, he flew through the countryside. John didn’t know where he was going but knew he just needed to get away for a while. He didn’t slow his pace until he came up to the river. He didn’t recognize this part of the winding waters, making him realize just how far he’d gone. But he didn’t care.

He slowed Old Boy and launched himself off and paced on the sands of the river a moment. He wanted to scream from frustration, yell at the top of his lungs. Looking down, he picked up a rock and threw it into the water. Then he picked up another and did the same, repeating himself again and again. When he got tired of throwing rocks, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He paused for a moment, feeling the map. His fingers curled around it, then yanked it out. Without hesitating he ripped it apart and hurled it with all his might.

For all his force, the pieces merely fluttered around him, getting caught in the wind. They lingered briefly before a breeze swept by and took them away. John watched them go, and suddenly he was on the ground with tears streaming down his face. He didn’t know where it came from, but he couldn’t stop now that he started crying. The sand was cold and damp yet he continued to sit there, unable to move.

He wished he didn’t rip up the map, he wished he could put the pieces back together.

No. that wasn’t it. He wished Nico wasn’t dead. He wished what he and Arthur had wasn’t dead. He wished he didn’t fuck up every relationship he ever had. He treated Abigail poorly, and could barely look at Jack. John didn’t know how they all deserved to have someone as flawed as him. He thought he could move on, but it seemed he would be dealing with the repercussions of his actions for the rest of his life.

John held his head in his hands, gazing into the churning rapids of the river. He wondered when things got so out of control. It felt like just yesterday when he and Arthur were still kids doing nothing but spending their days never apart. Now John was so much older and alone, growing into someone he never wanted to be.

Night fell over the sky making the crickets song come to life and the stars flicker up above. John didn’t realize how long he had sat there until the evening had come and went. Wiping his cheeks with the sleeves of his coat, he eventually stood. His bones ached once he got up, stiff from sitting for so long.

Old Boy grazed not far from the river, looking up when John walked over. He gave the horse a few pats, “sorry, boy. Let’s get you home.”

John retraced his way back to camp, this time much slower than before. He tried to collect himself along the way, finding it to be pointless as his heart was still heavy. He waved to Bill as he crossed over the border into camp, quietly hitching his horse and retreating to his tent. He took off his coat and crawled into bed, his last thought wishing the day had never happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked yet another chapter full of angst! I feel terrible for putting John through this...


	6. Part VI

Sleep didn’t come easy to John that night. And when it finally did he was haunted by the depth of his thoughts. There he saw Nico, though she was no longer the horrific image with half her skull missing. She was Nico again, to a certain extent. Her dark hair contrasted against skin that was so much paler than he remembered, with deep sunken eyes. She looked…hollow. Her face only a vague reflection of who she was when she was alive.

In this dream she did not speak to him, reminding John she wasn’t real. And while he saw countless others around them, they never looked the same as her. She was always the center of his focus, while everyone else was background noise. She seemed to float like she was still submerged under the water she was left in. And when she looked at him, John became riddled with sorrow at the sight_._ She had an air of sadness surrounding her that pulled at his heart.

He sat next to her on a wide stretch of beach, where she turned to face the water that lulled in and out with the tide. He tried to speak to her, but no words came out and he was met with a coldness as she turned away from him. He settled for sitting beside her in silence, looking out across the slow waves in quiet observation. It was almost nice, if it weren’t for the uneasy feeling that he couldn’t seem to shake.

He watched until the sun began to set before them, sinking into the water that turned a deep red as it swallowed it whole. Out of nowhere, he felt a hand grab onto his arm, turning face to face with Nico. John saw fear registered in her eyes, questioning him. He looked down to see blood pooling between them, Nico gripping him with sticky hands.

John backed away in horror, streaking the sand beneath him. His eyes followed the trail to the source, finding it to be coming from Nico’s abdomen. It spilled from her, pouring onto the beach. John lurched toward her, reaching out a hand to see it wrapped around the handle of his revolver. Nico’s blood soaked into the metal and stained the wood of the handle, making him let go in shock and watched it drop from his hands in an agonizing slow motion.

John jolted awake, frantically wiping his hands across his shirt. Cold sweat wrapped his body in unease, his heart beating to match. He couldn’t get the image of Nico’s blood out of his head. He sat upright, planting his feet on the ground and held his head in his hands.

He almost got away with believing he was rid of the nightmares. Instead, they only seemed to persist, further puzzling John in the meaning behind it all. He thought of the beach with its blood-soaked sand, the gun he wielded, and how it was him who shot Nico. _It’s all my fault._

John rubbed his eyes, then stood. He took a step into the early morning air and approached a barrel full of water situated next to his tent, plunging his hands in and bringing it to his face. It was ice cold, making him shiver, but it helped wake him up.

When he wiped his face and looked up he saw Abigail standing there. He almost jumped out of his skin. The woman had a gift for appearing out of thin air.

“Where were you?” She demanded, holding her hands on her hips.

“Out.” John turned away but she followed.

“Out? Nobody knew where you went! The boy was worried, and you didn’t return last night-”

“I did,” John snapped at her. “I’m fine.”

He sidestepped out of her path and slipped back into his tent, but she would not give up. He was only alone for a second before she pushed aside the opening.

“Don’t do that.”

Her persistence continued to frustrate him as she followed him inside. “Do what?”

“Run away! You always run away when I’m just tryna talk with you!”

He shot her a glare, eyes furrowed, “it ever occur to you that I ain’t in the mood for talkin’, then?”

John sat down at the edge of his bed, looking away from her.

“Oh yes, very funny.” She gave a sigh, “look, I just wanted to ask you if you were gunna get out of camp at all-”

“Just LEAVE it alone, will you? Quit nagging me about shit. Why does everyone seem so interested in me getting off my ass?”

“I was only asking so you could get some books for Jack! I just thought it might be important for our _son_ to be taught how to read! If it’s that big of an issue for you I can ask Arthur-”

“Well, why don’t you go ahead and ask Arthur! Though, you’re better off getting it _yourself!_”

Abigail scowled at him, “what is with you today? Why are you being like this?”

John sighed, hanging his head. “I just- I’m trying my best to do something and-and with everything that happened in Black-after Colter I’m-” John stuttered through his words, “I almost _died_, okay?!”

This seemed to catch her off guard, suddenly growing quiet. John rubbed a hand over his eyes, not meaning for things to escalate so quickly. His own confession startled even him, not realizing until he said it out loud just how much almost dying actually scared him.

John thought Abigail might leave, but instead she moved to sit in the chair across from him.

“Yeah…you’re right. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence followed.

“It’s Nico, too, isn’t it,” she spoke the words gently, but John still flinched at them. “John. John, look at me.”

When he did, he was met with a stern expression. Her lips were pressed together but he could also see worry lining her brow. He turned away again, looking anywhere but her eyes.

“Yeah…” he reluctantly admitted. She patiently sat across from him without moving. He could feel her gaze following his movements.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.”

John shifted uncomfortably, “I was there.” He paused, “when she…” he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, his voice shaking. “You know, I saw what happened. No one else knows but… it were Dutch, Abigail,” he looked up, eyes pleading her to believe him. To say the truth out loud felt like a weight being lifted, yet John was scared. He hadn’t said a word to anyone else about what he saw. He _couldn’t._

“I saw what he did to her. Shot her, right in the head, too. She didn’t… she wasn’t-”

“I know,” Abigail said softly, giving a comforting smile.

John suddenly wanted to tell her everything, not caring how incoherent he sounded. He had kept it bottled up for what felt like decades, frustrated that he had no one to talk to about his pain.

“It’s not like what they said, she would never…”

“Hey, I know,” she hesitantly reached out for his hand, and she let him take it. She gave a small squeeze. John swallowed dryly, feeling his throat tighten from the subject.

“Are you the only one who knows?”

He nodded.

She gave him a mournful look that made John so aware of just how alone he was. “I might not have known Nico as well as you, but I know _you,_ John. We might have some things to sort out between us but that don’t mean I don’t trust you. There are others, too. Hosea, Arthur, they trust you.”

John shook his head, “not over Dutch, they don’t.”

Abigail looked down and John let his features soften. Here was someone understanding and actually comforting him for once. “But thank you, Abigail.”

She nodded in understanding, retracting her hand as she slowly got up to sit beside him. “Arthur would.”

“Trust you,” she continued after John gave a questioning look. He sighed, he knew Abigail thought Arthur was a good man, and he was. John knew it, too. But there was too much bad blood for trust to exist between them any longer.

It looked like Abigail was going to say something more, but instead, she just gave John another smile and stood up. 

“Now, don’t let that man get to you.” She straightened her skirt out, standing tall, “you’re gunna take your time to heal, rest up. And when you see Dutch you will be unbothered. _You_ know the truth, John. It’s time to make _him_ sweat.”

With that, she started to leave. Lingering at the tent’s entrance, she turned to say one last thing, “and John, I’m glad you talked to me about this.”

He nodded and she exited the tent, leaving John alone. He appreciated her sentiment but also understood it was easier said than done. Especially since she knew nothing of the extent of Dutch’s wrath.

A part of him always wished he had confined in Abigail some more, to tell him just how bad things were. But he was scared. What happened between himself and Dutch had always stayed between the two, and as much as John wished it could be brought to light, he was terrified of that exposure. 

In the days that followed his conversation with Abigail, the breeze carried a warmer wind. He felt slightly better after talking with her, which was the last thing he expected. He was still sour over his last interaction with Arthur, who he noticed was still absent from camp. John thought that perhaps it was for the better, as he wasn’t in the mood to see him either.

During the nights, his dreams of Nico would come and go. Not much changed in them, but each time he was consumed by one, he woke up more restless than the last.

John bolted upright in his bed, woken up by yet another nightmare. He sighed when his heartrate finally settled and he was sure he wasn’t on the beach that his unconsciousness tricked him into visiting.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he brought a hand up to rub his eyes, then stood. Pulling on a pair of jeans and his coat, he left his tent. Thinking the night air might help ease his mind, he walked to the small clearing of trees that surrounded their little hideaway.

He passed by Javier, who made his rounds as he patrolled for the night. Giving a small nod, which the other man returned, he continued past until he walked between the sparse trees. He dug his hands in his pocket to get a cigarette, finding a match which he flicked across the bottom of his boot. Bringing it up to light the end of the cigarette, he took a long drag. Watching the cloud of smoke dissipate as he breathed out, he closed his eyes.

He let the sounds of the night fill his thoughts. The slight wind that shook the leaves of the trees, the creaking of the branches. He could hear the horses not far from where he stood. Their quiet grazing and the-

“_Shoot_, you damn animal, just move!”

John’s eyes snapped open when he heard the sound of a woman’s voice softly cursing. He put out his cigarette and slowly approached where the horses were kept, hearing the disturbance come from that direction.

When he came closer, he could see the woman they’d taken in at Colter struggling to get onto Dutch’s horse, the Count. She had one foot planted firmly in the stirrup of the saddle that she gripped onto tightly as the horse sidestepped away from her. She continued to try her best but ultimately fail at properly mounting onto the horse, swearing with every breath she took as she did.

“Going somewhere?” John interrupted her feeble endeavour of being inconspicuous. She jumped, not noticing his spectating from her fixated focus at poorly attempted horse theft. 

“If you were gunna try to run away, you probably shouldn’t have picked the leader of the gang’s horse to steal. You know, he’d put a bounty on your head if you did.”

The woman awkwardly dropped her foot down from the saddle and straightened herself out. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

John scrunched his features in disbelief, to which she rolled her eyes, “okay fine. I was leavin’.”

She crossed her arms, frowning at him, “so, you gunna stop me?”

John gave a shrug, leaning against one of the hitching poles. She looked a little skeptical at first, then moved onto another horse to try her luck with.

“You’re Miss. Adler, right?”

“Mrs.” She corrected without turning around. When Taima, Charles’ horse, moved away from her, too, she finally did turn around and give a deep sigh.

“Sadie,” she said quietly. “You can just call me Sadie, though.”

She peered at some of the other horses eagerly, spotting Silver Dollar. She gave John a questioning look, to which he frowned. “Bad choice, that one’s known Hosea for longer than you would know.”

Sadie’s shoulders dropped.

“But…” John continued, and she raised her brow at him. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, Lenny’s horse hasn’t been with him for too long.”

He nodded in the direction of the light brown mustang to the side. Sadie followed his gaze to where the mare was, walking over to put a hand down the horse’s neck.

“Maggie sure does mean a lot to Lenny, though. He loves that horse.” John could see her hesitate at that.

“I thought you said you weren’t gunna try to stop me?”

John shook his head, “no, by all means.”

She gave Maggie a few pats before hoisting herself on. There was no trouble from the mustang as Sadie settled into the saddle, making John hope Old Boy wouldn’t be as compliant.

“So, where’re you off to?”

“To kill Colm O’Driscoll.”

John couldn’t help laughing slightly, surprised by her boldness. She looked offended as he did, “something funny about that?”

“No, no. You just… remind me of someone, that’s all.”

Her features softened somewhat, then she looked down at the reins in her hands.

“You have a plan?” he asked her, making her send another glare his way.

“No.”

“You know where he is?”

“No.”

John gave her a once over, noting the way she only carried a small bag slung across her shoulder.

“You gotta gun?”

“…no.”

Most men would have given her a smug expression, or even scolded her for being so brash and unprepared. But John saw the way her expression cracked, and how her body seemed to slump in defeat. He could see she was just upset, and felt like she was out of options. He knew this because he felt it, too. All too familiar with what she was going through.

He vaguely remembered Abigail telling him of what happened to her when they’d first picked her up back in the mountains. How she had lost everything in one night just by being the unlucky victim of Colm’s unruly gang, and happened to be in their path of destruction.

John specifically remembered how she had lost her husband in the process, too, and how hard it affected her. During his early days at Horseshoe Overlook, he recalled seeing her apart from the others. She always seemed distressed, hiding her face as she would quietly weep. He felt remorse at the sight, wishing he could do something to help her. But he also figured he was probably the last person she wanted to confront her. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to say.

When she still hadn’t moved from where she sat, John took the few steps toward her and offered his hand. After a moment she reluctantly took it, and he helped her down.

“He’ll see the hangman’s noose, Mrs. Adler. He is a high priority for Dutch to find. And if that somehow doesn’t come to play out, I will personally help you put a bullet between his eyes.”

Sadie seemed to ease up a bit at that, but only slightly. “That bastard deserves a slow, painful death for what he’s done.”

“I can’t agree with you more on that.” John conceded. She nodded, but her eyes were glazed over like she wasn’t really listening to him.

“Perhaps you should stay for the time being, you can take it easy for a while. Take your time to plan out how you’re going to get him.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You said you weren’t gunna stop me,” she said it again, though she took the couple of steps back into camp beside him.

He gave another shrug, “just a suggestion, you are more than welcome to try this again tomorrow.”

He paused for a second before turning to her, “though, if I could just ask a favour?”

She gave him a questionable look, to which he continued, “just please don’t take my horse.”

Sadie smiled at that, much to John’s surprise. She then departed their conversation to join where the other women stayed at the far side of camp. He thought about her determination at leaving and finding Colm, and found himself hoping she would stay. There was potential at her becoming a skilled member of their gang, if that was something she would be interested in.

He had heard that she knew how to use a gun, and compared to some other, much older, members, that already made her just as skilled.

As the days passed and grew warmer, he continued seeing Sadie around camp. She would give him a slight wave and greeting in passing, which he would return in kind. It was nice, since she was always around. Most of the time the people John actually got along with were far from camp.

Sometimes Sadie would come with a book in hand and sit not far off from John as he sat underneath his oak tree. The two didn’t talk, but he took comfort in knowing she was around while he passed the time.

With things staying slow around camp, John’s mind often wandered back to the auction yard in Valentine and the potential job there.

On one particularly quiet morning, he thought about heading out to stay in town a bit. That way he could keep an eye on things, and have the excuse of being away from camp for a while. There hadn’t been any sign of Arthur, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want the chance of bumping into him when he came back. John thought it was probably best if he wasn’t around.

So when John woke up with the intention of leaving that day, the last thing he was expecting was anyone stopping him, least of all the person that did.

“John.”

He felt himself tense, his skin crawling from the voice that called his name.

“Just the man I was looking for.” He turned around to face Dutch approaching him.

“How are you, son?” He emphasized the last word, his eyes piercing into John’s as if goading him with how polite he was being.

John had to keep himself from gritting his teeth when responding, “fine.”

“Hmm,” Dutch stroked his chin as he stared at him intently. “Listen, the camp is in need of more supplies. I need you to go pick some things up at Wallace Station.”

“Wallace Station?!” John couldn’t catch himself in time as he responded, “Dutch, that’s… all the way on the other side of the river.”

“That it is.”

When John didn’t say anything, a sly smile crept across Dutch’s face. “Is that a problem.”

“It’s just, well, we’re real close to Valentine, why can’t I pick things up from there-”

“Because I’m _asking _you to go to Wallace Station.”

John had to avert his gaze, holding his tongue as he did. Taking his silence as agreement, Dutch placed a hand on his shoulder. John stiffened from the contact, while Dutch led him over to where they kept one of their wagons.

“Good! That’s settled, then.”

After a minute, Dutch was gone again, leaving John next to the beaten down wagon feeling just the same. He was so irritated, reduced to becoming an errand boy to do only the lowliest of jobs because Dutch told him to.

He walked over to the horses, securing their reins to the wagon. All the while he cursed under his breath, feeling like a damn fool.

“Hey, brother. Everything alright?”

Charles approached where he stood, wearing a look of concern.

Not realizing how hard he’d been scowling while feeling sorry for himself, John tried to wave off Charles’ worry. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Charles gave a glance over the wagon, “need help with something?”

“I have to pick up some stuff from Wallace Station.”

“Wallace Station?” Charles gave a frown.

John raised his eyebrows, letting out a breath of air, “don’t look at me. Dutch’s orders.”

He went to go close the hatch at the back of the wagon, noticing Charles climb up to sit as passenger at the front. “What’re you doing?”

“I’ll come with you. Make sure you get there and back okay.”

John was about to tell him that he really didn’t have to, and that it was nice of him to offer, but didn’t have the chance when someone spoke from behind them.

“Are you guys going out?”

John turned to see Sadie stood there, she wrung her hands together like she didn’t know what to do with them as she held a hopeful expression. “Please, can I come with you?”

“I- uhh,” John didn’t know what to say. “It’s gunna be quite the trip, I’ll likely take all day.”

“Oh, good,” Sadie moved past him, climbing up to sit in the back of the wagon. “I’m going crazy here, I need to get out.”

“Then, by all means,” he put up the hatch once Sadie settled in and walked back up to the front of the wagon, climbing on and grabbing the reins in his hands.

Urging the horses forward, he steered toward the main road. He kept the wagon going at a steady pace. He couldn’t help the slight smile that appeared on his face, happy to have the company on what would have turned into an inconvenience of a job.

For a while, they rode in silence, and it was nice. Just knowing that he wasn’t alone made the trip almost peaceful as they took their time on the country roads. They made their way along the Dakota River, the sound of the stream accompanying them for the majority of the trip.

Trees jutted skyward from the edges of stone as they passed by the high rocks of Caliban’s Seat. The uneven and rocky terrain around them providing beautiful scenery as they rode by.

After a while, Sadie stuck up conversation with the two of them, asking them how long they’d been running with Dutch. She talked a lot, which John didn’t mind. Her and Charles then spoke about hunting tricks each of them used while John listened.

It reminded him of Arthur, Nico, and himself when they were kids. Arthur notorious for talking their ears off. But it was easy that way, because John had always liked to listen. He couldn’t say the same for Nico, sometimes noticing the way she would tune out of whatever tale Arthur spun for them. But John knew it just wouldn’t be the same without her. The memories John had of the three of them becoming some of his favorite with everything they used to get up to.

His heart tightened a little from the nostalgia he held for their past friendship, trying to clear his head as he focused back to the road ahead.

They drove the wagon over the top of the Cumberland Falls and into the dense forests, knowing they must be close to the station now.

They arrived decently later in the day. After clearing the general store out of supplies, the three of them loaded everything into the back of the wagon. When they were finished, John waved his thanks to the shopkeeper and lifted himself back onto the wagon.

Taking the same road as they travelled back, heavy clouds could be seen hovering over the mountains in the distance. John tried to enjoy the moment with the other two, feeling as though he always mourned it’s loss before it was even over.

It was almost disappointing when they arrived back to camp in the late afternoon. What took a day only felt like an hour to him.

“God, that went by fast.” John felt like Sadie read his mind as she said it. He solemnly nodded in agreement, empathetic to her disappointed expression.

“I thought going out would help, but I’m only dreading to see Pearson’s _stupid _face again.” She slumped on the side of the wagon, “and having to listen to him talk? The man is about as interesting as the food he makes.”

John laughed at that, noticing Charles try to hide a smile, too.

“If I have to hear one more story about how he was in the navy, I swear, I might not make it through this.” As serious as she sounded, she smiled too.

“Things went smoothly, I presume?”

The air instantly turned bitter when Dutch approached the three of them. John quickly turned to unlatch the back of the wagon, trying his best to seem preoccupied with unloading the supplies.

“We had no trouble on the roads,” he heard Charles respond.

“Good, good.” Dutch came up beside John, bringing a foot up to lean on the side of the wagon. He could feel his eyes on him as he passed a crate of ammunition to Sadie.

“Them scars still pretty raw,” John only glanced at Dutch when he spoke.

“The new ones or the old ones.” He instantly regretted his response, feeling depleted from the sudden burst of bravery he had.

Dutch burnt holes into John, who was just able to catch the way his jaw clenched. “Exactly.”

“Those are some pretty tough lookin’ scars you got, John,” Sadie interjected when she picked up another crate, making him remember it wasn’t just him and Dutch in that moment.

John scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it tough. I’m either stupid or slow… and I cannot decide which. Either way, seems I keep getting caught, these just happen to be from some wolves I was lucky enough to run into.”

“We all get caught eventually, John, I guess the trick is to decide by who.” Dutch didn’t skip a beat, not moving his gaze from John for the entirety of their conversation. John did face Dutch at that, not able to hide the questionable look he gave.

“Seems like you’ve been getting caught by a few things. Not just wolves or knives.”

Both Sadie and Charles now fixed their attention on Dutch, too.

Dutch cleared his throat, “anyways, I won’t keep you. Good job on getting the supplies.”

John dropped his gaze on one of the crates, not daring to follow his attention after Dutch when he departed their conversation.

“What the hell was that about?” Sadie said once it was just the three of them again.

“I don’t know.” John replied shorty, still avoiding anyone’s eyes. For a split second, he could see Charles and Sadie share a look before he picked up the crate and quickly left for the safety of the med wagon. When he was alone, he placed the crate down and let out a shaky breath. He noticed his hands trembling, moving them to clench his arms as he crossed them so they might stop.

He didn’t know what Dutch meant by what he had said to John, but it deeply unsettled him anyway. What scared him even more was the fact that Dutch didn’t feel the need to limit these conversations to be between only the two of them anymore. Not knowing how to react when targeted so publicly in front of Sadie and Charles.

As he idly stood there, John came to the conclusion that he needed to have some space between himself and the camp for a while. Rushing back to his tent, he gathered a few things to make the long awaited trip to town. Knowing a few days in Valentine would do him some good to clear his head and keep him preoccupied with the lead he’d found there earlier.

With his satchel full and his mind set, he planned to head out first thing in the morning, this time with no distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hi, sorry, this note turned into its own fic, pls feel no obligation to read any of it lol)
> 
> I hope this chapter was enjoyable! I apologize if it seemed like a filler, I originally had this to be part of a bigger chapter where more plot happens BUT it turned into a giant monster that I thought would be better to split up. So, with that said, there was no Arthur in this chapter (I'm sorry!), but I thought it might still be important for building John's relationship with other people. I hoped ya’ll liked the little premature trio time with John, Charles, and Sadie! Seeing as they spend a lot of time together later in the game :D 
> 
> Also, dw, there will be lots of Arthur in the coming chapters :)
> 
> I also wanted to touch upon John and Dutch a little in this chapter. A lot of influence for the interactions between Dutch and John are from their camp conversations that, as playing as Arthur, you would sometimes stumble upon. I used a lot of dialogue from these (apologies for the unoriginal content), as I personally really enjoyed these interactions while I played the game and felt that you could really see Dutch’s true colours through them long before the actual story started making you sense Dutch turning. I will likely use more from their conversations in future chapters to come, even if it is twisted in with my own words (they’re a lot of fun to go off of)!
> 
> NOW, I wanted to put this out there as I haven't mentioned it before and figure this may be a good place to do so; I DO NOT HATE DUTCH AS A CHARACTER. I might end up putting this note somewhere a bit more visible for anyone reading this fic but I just really want to make it clear that I do not see Dutch as being the exact person I wrote him as. I understand a lot of people are really big fans of him, and I am too. I think he is an amazing, in-depth character that the canon did a fantastic job of portraying in the main story and twisting into this tragic villain. Personally, I thought it would be a very interesting concept to write him as this super sadistic character in this story, with bits and pieces derived straight from the canon with other, more sinister parts added on to make him into this truly awful main character in my story. I only wanted to let people know that I am not writing him like this because I hate him or anything! I LOVE a good villain, and something that I've learned from school is that, as a writer, you have to love your villains. 
> 
> OKAY SORRY, THAT IS ALL I SWEAR.


	7. Part VII

John leaned against the structure of the barn next to the auction yard, keeping his distance as he tried to listen in on the conversation taking place between one of the auctioneers and a farmhand.

He’d been in Valentine a couple of days now, doing his best to keep a low profile while he cased the area, making sure to listen in when he could.

“We still got… some comin’ in from West Elizabeth, near Blackwater, sir. They haven’t set a time for their arrival yet.”

“Anything else?”

“The herd from Emerald Ranch will be coming later this evening. We’re expecting around twenty.”

John slightly tipped his hat up to look at the men. He’d been scoping out the area for a while after hearing about the livestock coming through to be auctioned off. He figured he might as well rustle a couple of sheep while the gang was in the area.

_All that’s left is buying a rifle and finding a vantage point-_

“John? What’re you doing here?”

John turned wide-eyed to where he heard his name being called from, bewildered as he saw Arthur of all people casually walk toward him only a few feet off.

“What’re you doing sneakin’ around like that,” Arthur continued advancing as he practically yelled.

“_Shhhhhhh!”_ John brought a finger to his lips, then quickly looked over his shoulder. They hadn’t gotten anyone’s attention but John was afraid they might if Arthur continued causing a scene.

He quickly grabbed Arthur and pulled them into the nearby barn. Once inside, John faced him, “do you mind!?”

Arthur didn’t say anything as John glared into his eyes. He suddenly realized how close he stood, still latching onto Arthur’s arm. 

John quickly dropped his hand and took a step back, awkwardly looking away. “I’m just on a job, so would you mind not blowing my cover?”

Arthur raised his hands up innocently, “sure. Don’t mind me.”

“Alright, well. I should really be going then. Bye.” John started to head to the opposite barn doors.

“Wait,” Arthur took a step in his direction. “Um, can I get your help with something? It’ll be quick, I promise.”

Without stopping John responded, “what.”

Arthur followed him out, trying to keep up with his fast pace into town, “you going to the gunsmith?”

“Yeah, actually.” John gave him a suspicious sideways glance, “…why.”

A stupid grin crossed Arthur’s face. “I need some ammo.”

He frowned, “and? Why don’t you get it yourself.”

Arthur looked around them, “I don’t exactly have the best reputation in town at this moment in time.”

John’s expression fell flat, “of course you don’t.”

The two made it to the side of the gunsmith shop, Arthur halting before they made it in the town any further. “Could you grab a couple of revolver cartridges for me?”

“Sure,” John replied as he took the steps up onto the porch and pushed aside the door that led into the shop. He walked up to the front counter and studied the rifles, his mind back on the job. He wasn’t looking for anything too fancy, just something to get the job done.

“May I offer you any assistance, sir?”

John pointed to a worn but sturdy-looking rolling block rifle, “Can I see this one?”

The man slid open the glass door encasing the weapons and brought the rifle that caught John’s eye out onto the counter. On closer inspection, the rifle had engravings that lined the light myrtle wood, contrasting the almost black metal that held it together.

“She’s an old one but still works like a charm, I can assure you.”

It certainly wasn’t as new and shiny as the other ones, but John held a fondness for it. He ran his hand along the barrel, “I’ll take it.”

A little while later, John returned to where he left Arthur, who he found leaning casually against the wall of the shop. “You get the ammo?”

John tossed him the cartridges then continued making his way past Arthur and back to the auction yard. Arthur whistled, “that’s quite the gun you got there, Marston. What’re you planning to use that for?”

“The job I was talking about. Gunna scope out some sheep to rustle.”

Arthur caught up to John, facing him as he spoke, “Alone? You’re gunna herd a bunch of sheep by yourself?”

He stood in front of John now, forcing him to stop. “…yeah?”

Arthur gave him a skeptical look, “no way you’ll be able to do it with one man, let me help.”

“No.” John responded coldly, moving away from Arthur.

“Why not?”

John didn’t hesitate as he answered, “because you’re unreliable for one, and two, you’ve been kind’ve a jerk lately.”

Arthur gave a sheepish smile, “that’s nothing new.”

John rolled his eyes, turning away.

“Hey, okay, wait! You’re right. What I said the day of the train heist… was out of line. You didn’t deserve that, I’m, uhh… I’m sorry.” He looked to the ground, avoiding John’s gaze.

John didn’t know how to respond at the sudden sincerity of Arthur’s apology to him. It was unexpected with the circumstance of how tense things seemed between them since they argued. And how John hadn’t seen Arthur again until now.

“I can make it up to you, let me help you with the job.” Arthur looked up again, as if not wanting to linger on the memory they last shared for too long. “Honestly, I’d be doing you a favor since there’s no way you can do it on your own.”

John squinted at him.

“Come on,” Arthur continued. “Tell me about it over a drink at the saloon, I’ll buy you a whiskey, sunshine.”

John blinked, feeling himself turn red from what he knew was only a harmless comment. He quickly turned in the direction of the saloon and started walking. “Fine.”

“Not that one, the other one,” John stopped in his tracks, looking over to see Arthur pointing in the opposite direction.

John turned to give him a confused expression, “there’s another one?”

A minute later the two walked into a small building that John never realized existed. “Huh, I didn’t even know there was another saloon.” He glanced around, “it’s pretty small. Probably doesn’t get a lot of business compared to the other one.”

He heard someone clear his throat, looking over to see the bartender give him an unimpressed stare.

John awkwardly looked away, catching Arthur’s smug expression. “Nice one, Marston.”

“Shut up.”

The two sat at a corner table away from the few other patrons that littered the place, John explaining his plan to Arthur. He talked of how he overheard that there would be multiple herds being moved in from all over the place and that he was particularly interested in the one coming from Emerald Ranch.

All the while Arthur listened intently, nodding along as John spoke. “I thought I’d set up near Twin Stack Pass and wait for them to pass by, then fire a few shots to scatter the ranchers and swoop in to take the remaining stock the rest of the way.”

“Then bring them to the auction and sell them as your own?”

John nodded.

Arthur suppressed a smile.

“What?”

Arthur shook his head, but still couldn’t help from smiling, making John frown.

“What.”

“It’s a brilliant plan but,” he gave a little chuckle, “You’ll need someone to help wrangle those sheep if they’re going to be scattering like that. Not to mention when it comes to actually herding them. Typically, there’s one man in the front and two in the back, but I’m confident we can handle it just fine with the two of us.” 

He took a drink from his whiskey, then added, “you really don’t know much about ranching, do you.”

John took in everything Arthur said before responding. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

Arthur’s eyes lit up, “there, that settles it then!” He stood, and without waiting for a response exited the saloon.

John had no choice but to follow, catching up with Arthur outside as he mounted his horse, and did the same. They rode out of town and into the open, flat lands of the Heartlands. Giant pillars of rock emerged from the ground, standing like structures that reached toward the sky. As they went further out, the snowy mountains could be seen in the distance with forests that dotted the base and flowed down from the Grizzles to the west. It was quite breathtaking, being a sight to behold.

They followed along the road until John spotted a pathway leading up onto a large enough space to overlook the area around them.

“Let’s head to the ridge up there, get a better view!” he called over his shoulder, motioning to where he meant.

The two ascended together, stopping with their horses side by side to look below them. “So I’m thinking that the herd’ll make it to auction alright. But a couple of new ranch hands’ll be collecting on the sale. Doubt the town will care to notice too much.” Arthur nodded as John spoke.

The two waited patiently for the herd to arrive, scanning the valley in anticipation. John shrugged his new rifle off his shoulder to hold in his hands. He gave the ground a quick scan to look for any movement. Nothing.

“Might be here for a while.”

John relaxed his aim, giving a hum in agreement. When neither of them said anything more, he shifted in his saddle uncomfortably.

Arthur slid off his horse, taking a seat in the grass in front of them. “What’re you doing?” John asked him, wearing a frown as he did.

“Listen, it feels like I’ve been riding all day,” he responded while settling. “You’re free to join me too, Marston. Don’t think we’ll be seeing anything soon.”

John figured Arthur may be right, getting off his own horse, too. He gave Old Boy a pat before going over to sit down next to him. They sat a few more feet apart than John would’ve liked, but he knew better than to move any closer.

John sat as Arthur leisurely lay next to him, watching the clouds pass with a sun that shone brightly overhead. The wind rustled the long grass around them with a breeze that wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

Arthur reached for his hat, taking it off to run a hand through his hair. It sat just above a shoulders length, particularly sun bleached from the beginnings of the long summer days. John especially liked it like this, and the way that a few stray pieces always found their way in front of his face

He wore a relaxed expression, one that John caught himself staring at for too long. He fixed his attention ahead, but couldn’t stop his mind from returning to the image. He was so pretty, John had always thought that about Arthur. He knew that Arthur hated the thought. _Pretty boy, _people would call him, and he would become all red and flustered.

He would be so offended at the notion that he wasn’t some grizzled outlaw that he claimed to be. Like being pretty made him any less of a skilled gunslinger that he was.

But he was, in John’s opinion. With a perfect smile that could just about melt anyone’s worries. And of course his eyes, which was John’s favourite feature of his. The depth of their blue and how they always looked at him just right, until one day they didn’t, and he found himself avoiding them more than anything else. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to own my own ranch.” Arthur broke his train of thought, making him remember why they were here.

“I know you do,” John chuckled. “You used to talk about it when we was kids.”

Arthur smiled but didn’t look at John. It wasn’t like the same as from back in Valentine, this smile was genuine, reminding John of the past.

“It’s not an exciting life but it’s simple and rewarding.” The smile slipped from his face, “I never imagined myself in this outlaw life forever.”

John turned to look over at Arthur, seeing the sincerity in what he spoke written across his face. It disappeared just as fast as it came when Arthur squinted, pointing ahead, “that the herd you lookin’ for?”

John stood, bringing the scope up to look where Arthur pointed. “That’s them alright,” he responded. “I’m gunna fire a shot to scatter them ranch hands, then the sheep will be ours for the taking.”

He moved the crosshairs of the rifle across the ground, following the herd. He then positioned his line of fire at a safe distance to spook them without the risk of hitting anyone. Putting his finger on the trigger, he slowly squeezed. The bullet whizzed through the air, lodging itself in the dirt a few feet off from where they passed.

One of the ranch hands pulled back to still his horse, panicking as he looked around. The others halted, too.

John let fly another shot, this time causing the first man to spur his horse and hightail it out of there. The two remaining men quickly followed suit and ran after the first man, leaving the sheep long forgotten.

The sheep dispersed, too, unguided in their panic. Luckily, none seemed to run off, to John’s contentment. Now it was just a matter of collecting them, which he thought would be easy enough.

He lowered the weapon and gave Arthur a triumphant grin, who returned it. “Not bad, Marston.”

“Come on, let’s round them up.” He got onto his horse, pulling the reins to direct them down to where the sheep grazed in the open field. Once they reached the bottom, the two split up to gather the stock, their movements mirrored as they parted ways.

John took the left side, making sure to keep his distance so he wouldn’t produce any strays along the way. Looping around a cluster, he took his time in forcing them back as a group. He met up with Arthur in the middle, who waited for him.

With John’s addition, they managed to successfully gather all the sheep back together. He looked around them smiling, proud of their work.

John slid off his horse, reaching for his saddlebag to grab some oats. He held out his hand for Old Boy, who practically inhaled them. Arthur dismounted his horse, too, and John offered him some oats for his horse. Arthur took them gratefully, “Bandit thanks you kindly.”

John gave a nod, returning to Old Boy with a brush now in hand. “So why don’t you leave?”

He turned to see Arthur give him a confused expression. “The gang, I mean,” he continued, “if you don’t picture yourself doing this forever.”

“Ah,” Arthur looked away. He gently pet Bandit, taking his time to respond. “I don’t know… I think this life chose us.” He said it almost solemnly, like he mourned the idea of ever escaping the outlaw life a long time ago.

John got the feeling that Arthur was not too keen on talking about the subject. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try to change it. This…Dutch… he doesn’t know what’s right for us.” He quickly realized how that sounded. Awkwardly, he tried to clarify, feeling his cheeks heat up, “the gang-I mean, with everything that’s happened…” he trailed off.

Arthur shifted, fidgeting with the reins of his horse. “I won’t lie, it hasn’t been easy, but we'll get through it. We always do.”

John was slightly taken aback by Arthur’s ignorance. It almost felt as if he were just trying to disregard the severity of what happened in Blackwater. John had tried bringing it up to him only a few times and every conversation had ended in avoidance. He was determined to get through to Arthur, to talk to the Arthur _he_ knew, who wouldn’t stand for the truth behind what Dutch had done.

“What about Nico?” John turned his body to face Arthur, “Mac, Davey, Jenny, they didn’t make it through.”

He could see Arthur’s expression turn cold. “We can’t change what’s been done… we can only move on,” there was a distance to the words he spoke, making John think he was talking about something else.

Still, he prodded further, unable to accept that Arthur didn’t have the slightest shred of doubt with how much their situation has declined recently. “You act like they meant nothing! Dutch, too, treating them as if they’re disposable, they were _people._”

“Now that’s not true, you can’t put all this on Dutch. We just gotta trust in him-”

“Don’t be so naive, Arthur,” John cut him off. “You really believe all that stuff Dutch fed you about Nico? After everything?”

Arthur’s expression turned stern, “don’t.”

John couldn’t help from raising his voice, “don’t what?! Talk about Nico?” He felt a wave of surging anger at her mention, his eyes stinging. “You haven’t even said a word about her since she _died_. She was our friend! How could you do that?!”

“_No_,” Arthur turned on him, pointing a finger at John, “She was YOUR friend, not mine. I didn’t betray her, _she _betrayed me! Betrayed all of us! It’s because of her we ended up in this giant mess, so don’t put that on me! Don’t tell me I have no remorse when she’s the one that gave up!”

“You’re wrong, she didn’t. You _knew _her, she wouldn’t do that to us, just think about it-” he pleaded, desperate for Arthur to know the truth.

Arthur didn’t look convinced. “You’re turning this whole thing around-”

“I’m not!” He snapped again, aware of how the conversation was quickly descending, but John didn’t care if he was crossing a line. He’d kept everything bottled for so long, he couldn’t stop it from all coming out now.

“She was the first of us to question Dutch about his intentions! And what happened to her? He put a fucking bullet in her head and left her to rot in that damn lake, or river, or whatever the hell it was!”

Arthur’s tone was deep and steady when he responded, “that’s a serious accusation to be throwing around.”

“Yeah? Well maybe I ain’t joking.”

John could see the expression on Arthur’s face falter as he continued, “and maybe I thought you’d never trust me enough to take me seriously, did you ever think that was the reason I never told you any of this?”

Arthur went quiet, hesitating for a moment. “Of course I would take into consideration what you thought. If you truly meant it, I would, but-”

“Take into consideration?!” John almost laughed at that, “you think I could risk you _considering _anything after what actions Dutch took against Nico? Against me? Hell no-”

“Against you?”

“-telling you after everything that happened between us ain’t worth dying over, that’s forsure. You can’t even look at me straight no more.”

Arthur’s puzzled expression morphed back into one of anger, “yeah? Well, I wonder why that is! If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one that fucked off for a year!”

“Oh my God,” John rolled his eyes, turning away. “Talking to you is impossible. Forget I said anything.”

“As I recall, you _didn’t_ say anything, Marston. Like always!”

Arthur didn’t stop now that he started, “so why would you care? After everything? Mac, Davey, Jenny, even Nico! What do you care about what happens to them! Or to m-to _any _of us?!”

Arthur’s body was fully turned toward John now, his eyes glaring into him. He looked enraged, but there was something else that John couldn’t quite place beneath it.

“Dutch may have his flaws, but at least he was here!”

A beat of silence followed between them. The words striking John as if a they were a slap across the face.

He turned to face Arthur again, “wh-_Dutch!?_”

“Yes, Dutch. He is trying his best to keep us all together, where you’d rather run away from your problems. Tell me, why was it you came back, huh? Why bother!”

“Because I-I,” _for you! _He screamed internally, and it was the honest answer, but not one he could voice out loud. It was never about the gang. He knew that shortly after joining. If Arthur was at the other end of the earth, John would have followed him there.

“I didn’t-It wasn’t…” John fumbled through his words, eventually trailing off with the realization that there was nothing he could say without admitting the truth, leaving behind a painful silence between them.

“Hmm.” Arthur pressed his lips together, nodding his head slowly. He let out a short, frustrated breath through his nose. “After all this time and still you can’t admit the truth. Isn’t this what you wanted? To talk? Well, here we are! It’s just the two of us now! Do you have _anything_ to say?”

John didn’t answer, composed in a forced ignorance to hide the truth.

“No!? Nothing!?” Arthur raised his arms up beside him, clearly agitated now.

“I… I can’t.” John finally said.

“Of course not!” Arthur snapped, “ ‘cause you’re a GODDAMN COWARD, JOHN MARSTON.”

John’s anger rose to match that of Arthur’s, “you know, I’ve just about had it with what people assume I am. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought, maybe it’s-”

John cut himself off. He was afraid of the consequences he might endure if he went on further. The conversation was turning dangerous as he let his emotion take control.

“What?” Arthur questioned him. “Maybe it’s what?!”

John didn’t answer right away. He let the silence linger for a moment before responding. “Nothing. I’m done wasting my breath.”

Arthur squinted at him but didn’t say anything.

“You know, you’re a capricious man, Arthur Morgan. One minute you’re all content, seemin’ like we could be friends again and the next you’re back to avoiding me and acting like I don’t even exist.”

“Oh, is that what you’re expecting? To be friends?”

John faltered, uncertain in that moment how to respond, “well… yes.”

John studied Arthur’s face intently. He could feel his heart beating in his chest as he waited in anticipation for a response. Arthur remained stoic, without a crack in his demeanor to show John any indication of what he was thinking.

“Well then.” Arthur’s jaw clenched, “I guess you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

John stared, unblinking. Arthur continued, “we ain’t friends. We ain’t ever gunna be friends.

Arthur’s gaze hardened, holding a fierceness John had never known him to have. And when he looked into his eyes, he saw no familiarity, feeling nothing that he once did.

“I _can’t_ be friends with you. Do you know why? Because when I look at you, all I see is a ghost. You’re just a memory of someone I thought I knew a long time ago.”

John stood paralyzed from his words, listening with such focus as he felt his chest tighten.

“And sure, it’s all fine and civilized when it has to be. But that’s all it will ever be.” Arthur’s voice shook as he went on, John could see tears start to form in his eyes, “so don’t you think for a _second _it means anything more.”

Without another word, he mounted and spurred his horse to ride up ahead of John, leaving him in the dust. John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and gripped onto his horse to pull himself up. His arms and legs felt shaky when he did. He didn’t want to think about what just happened. And how everything that he thought he had between him and Arthur was built upon lies. No, he didn’t want to think about that.

He kept switching between a fury and misery at what transpired, angry at how careless Arthur was and filled with sorrow from the hurtful things he’d said. _All I see is a ghost._

Maybe he was right. John hadn’t felt like himself in years, and maybe he was holding onto something that was long dead, killing him in the process too.

But what hurt the most was the fact that Arthur believed John truly didn’t care. After all the sacrifices made, to think that it meant nothing to John. Did he really see him so heartless? _If only he knew…_

No, he couldn’t go down that path right now. He forced the thought far from his mind. He had to focus, he came out to do a job, and he was going to finish it.

With about a dozen sheep between them, the air was tense as the two rode to the auction yard. It took almost twice as long going back to Valentine, or at least it seemed like it to John, not saying a word to each other the entire time.

Arthur reached the auction yard first, getting off his horse to lend a hand opening the gate with the farmhands, funneling the sheep inside the corral. John spotted the auctioneers not far off, dismounting his horse to approach them.

The lead man leaned on the fence with his foot propped up, watching the sheep intently. “Those are some fine sheep you got there.” He faced John, “one might wonder how you acquired such.”

“Guess I should take that as a compliment, I’m quite proud of them myself,” John responded, but the man didn’t seem convinced, narrowing his eyes.

Arthur came up to stand beside John, “you got a problem with the sheep, friend?” His voice was low, staring at the auctioneer with intensity. It was clear that he was still in a poor mood from their argument before.

“Not with the sheep, _friend. _And I suggest you be careful.”

“Excuse me?”

A slick smile crossed the man’s face, “sure, I’ll excuse you… for twenty five percent kickback.”

Arthur looked taken aback and John was afraid he would punch the man. Instead, he took a couple of steps closer to the auctioneer, threatening him now with his voice in a deep growl, “do you want me to put another hole in your head?”

The auctioneer didn’t move, matching his tone when he responded, “folks swing ‘round here for rustling livestock. Twenty five percent.”

“Fifteen,” John interjected, making them both break their staredown between each other and look at him.

“Twenty.”

Arthur waved his hand in frustration, walking away from them.

“Eighteen,” John persisted, making the auctioneer contemplate for a moment before he answered.

“Done.” He held out his hand to close the deal, which John took. “Come back when the auction is over, you’ll get your money.” John gave a tight nod, dropping his hand.

Arthur was already at his horse and back to ignoring John by the time he walked over. He thought Arthur might take off back to camp without waiting for him, but never got the chance to find out when he heard someone come up to them.

“Gentlemen!” Trelawny strolled over to meet the two of them. He held himself up straight, looking down his nose at them like he always did. John thought about how out of place he looked amidst all the mud and animals with his top hat and pristine clothes.

“There you are! I thought I might find you around here, or more so, _Dutch_ thought you boys had business here. He has requested your ever awaited attendance in town.”

Without stopping for an answer, he turned and walked back up the way he came. “Come, come, I’ll take you to him.”

Arthur dismounted and took the reins of his horse, turning his back to John when responding, “lead the way.”

John whistled for Old Boy to follow while Trelawny led them into town. He lingered behind the two, not wanting to encourage conversation.

“So, what were the two of you up to?”

“Auctioning sheep.” Arthur said curtly, making Trelawny glance his way. “That it, then?”

“Yup.”

Trelawny overdramatically shook, “brrr, did something happen between you two? It’s awfully cold.”

John could make out Arthur’s expression furrowing from the other man’s brash remark. “Just doing a job, nothing more to it.”

“Very well then.” Trelawny seemed to take the hint as he didn’t speak any further during their trip along the road. He stopped outside the saloon they were at earlier that day and John thought of how different things were only a couple hours prior, feeling his heart tighten.

“I’ll meet you boys inside.”

The two awkwardly made their way to where the horses were to be hitched without looking at one another.

“Nice going back there, Marston,” his voice was thick with sarcasm. “Can’t herd, can’t swim…”

John opened his mouth to retort, but Arthur cut him off before he had the chance, “oh don’t tell me, ‘_we ain’t kids no more.’” _He forcibly tied the reins of his horse and walked up the steps of the saloon. “We never really were…”

John’s first instinct was to yell after him, but his anger was instantly replaced with a sense of sadness. Arthur was right, they were robbed of any childhood. And the man responsible for that was sitting not ten feet away from him.

He went to hitch his own horse, taking a deep sigh before going inside to meet Dutch. It was the last thing he wanted to do, and after today, particularly so.

When he pushed open the saloon door he could see Arthur taking a seat beside Dutch. Trelawny, in turn, got up from his, “-it won’t be for long, I’ve got a good feeling about this place.”

Dutch couldn’t look more disinterested, “sure.”

“Right then, I’ll be off,” Trelawny passed by John to leave, tipping his hat as he did.

Dutch turned toward Arthur, “where have you been?”

“Workin’. Marston had a thing.” Arthur leaned back in his chair.

“A thing?”

“Yup, just waiting to get some pay on a few sheep.”

“Right.” Dutch turned to John as if he had only just noticed he was there. “John. Since you’re here, could you make yourself useful and stay outside with the horses? Make sure there ain’t no funny business out there.”

John’s eyes darted to Arthur, who quickly looked away. He gave a tight-lipped smile, “sure thing.”

He heard Dutch offer Arthur a drink before exiting the saloon, feeling like a child being sent out while the adults talked. _Typical._ He thought to himself how this day couldn’t get any worse, but then again each day seemed to be harder than the previous.

John stood next to Old Boy, shrugging off his rifle to put away. The town was quiet, making him wonder why Dutch was so keen on having a lookout. He could have just sent John home.

Without much distraction, his mind drifted back to their argument from earlier. It was becoming obvious where Arthur’s loyalty lay, the realization hitting John hard. Though, he didn’t know why he was surprised. What they once had was long gone. They were years past it.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even blame Arthur because it was John who avoided him for all those years. He may not have had a choice, but Arthur didn’t know that. He wasn’t aware of the circumstance that led them here. And maybe it was time for John to let go.

Combined with what transpired with Dutch last, John questioned why he still ran with the gang. After today he crossed some line in his mind telling him that he should leave. That Arthur all but despised him, that Nico was a warning and that if he wasn’t careful, he would end up the same as her. He thought about Abigail and how he should tell her everything about Dutch so that she and Jack might leave and never look back, too.

John believed he could get away with it. Slipping away and giving into the rumors of him running off like half the gang thought anyhow. He doubted Dutch cared enough to chase him, after all, it would mean that he won.

In the past there had been countless reasons that would almost convince him to go; the way people looked at him as if he were some sort of traitor. Not being able to bear the self-hatred of pleasing Dutch by settling with Abigail. Of course, nothing compared to how much it killed him to avoid Arthur, and Arthur him.

It made sense in John’s mind. And if he was being honest, leaving was the most rational thing to do. Half his life was spent living in fear of Dutch’s shadow and being marked untrustworthy by most of his companions.

He wouldn’t have been able to last this long were it not for Nico, yet now that she was gone he still felt a pull to remain. That was… until after today. Now that John was completely clear on Arthur’s feelings toward him, that there wasn’t even a shred of forgiveness that John could cling on to…

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”

John was so lost in thought that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard someone behind him. Without recognizing the voice, he turned around just in time to see the butt of a gun thrust into his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things between Arthur and John were pretty intense in this chapter, if only John could tell him the truth... 
> 
> I really, really want to have Arthur be present more often but I think it means more when he's not. Him being distant and 'polite' makes sense and especially hurts since we, though John's perspective, don't know what he is thinking. And then when they finally do spend time together they can't help but confront this dark cloud that's been hovering over them, then all hell breaks loose and suddenly you see just how affected Arthur really is, that he's hurting too. 
> 
> If you liked this chapter/the story so far please consider leaving a like or comment! They mean a lot :)


	8. Part VIII

Pain exploded across John’s nose, not processing what had happened until he hit the ground. He looked up at his abuser to see a rough looking man standing over him. A pair of hands grabbed onto John, lifting him back up.

“Van der Linde! Get out here!” John could hear a gruff voice coming not far from where he was being held.

“You don’t know me, but you keep _robbing_ me!”

He was an older man, though, cleaned up. He dawned lavish clothing from what looked like a silk necktie to gold buttons down his coat that he wore overtop a pinstripe suit. But amongst it all, John could make out a shiny pocket watch which hung from his vest.

He watched the scene play out before him in bewilderment until the realization at who this mysterious man could be suddenly hit him, _oh no…_

“My name is Leviticus Cornwall! And I am not a man to be messed with by the likes of you!”

As if on cue, the, no doubt, hired thug that gripped him threw his fist at John again, completely distracting him from his attention on the one person in the entire state that the Van der Linde gang was trying their utmost to avoid.

He reached a hand to cover his face, cradling his nose as he was sure it began to bleed. The thug gave him a creepy smile that John so desperately wanted to knock off his face.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a bargaining chip if you intended to use me as any sort of leverage,” John muffled through his hand.

The thug’s smile dropped, curling his lip. “Shut up!” He threw John to the ground, landing on his stomach and struggled against the man’s foot now placed on his back. John cursed himself for making the foolish decision of opening his mouth. Admitting his worthlessness was probably not the best way out of this already poor situation.

Not that him being held hostage for someone like Dutch was going to help him much anyways… though with Arthur there perhaps he would have a chance.

It was too late to think about any of that now as he felt the man reach down and start to bind his feet together, “then if you’re of no use to Mister Cornwall, we’ll have a bit of fun with you instead.”

Panic seized John, growing anxious from the thug’s comment and leaving him to wonder what he meant, his mind now racing for a way to escape. The thug motioned to another man to drag him beside the saloon and away from the feud. In this narrow alley was where all the men hid their horses, out of sight so no one might suspect their arrival.

The thug that had punched him earlier took out more rope that John was scared to think what he might do with. Bending down where John’s feet were already tied, he watched in confusion as the man wrapped it around an extra time. He then stood, holding the end of the rope in his hands.

“What’re you doing!” John yelled out, his voice straining while he grew even more distressed. The thug didn’t answer, instead, punching him again, sending his head to collide against the hard ground.

John felt a fuzziness overcome him, his vision blurring as he began to lose focus.

“I think we need to shut you up.” The man took out a bandana, kneeling down beside John to force his head up. He then proceeded to tie it around his mouth, muffling John’s protests.

In the background, he could hear the continued slandering that Cornwall yelled, forgetting for a moment where he was until he heard the door of the saloon bust open.

“Please, gentlemen, this is a terrible mistake,” he heard the unmistakable voice of Dutch trying to reason as him and Arthur walked out. Their footsteps slow and calculated as John imagined they held their hands up in surrender.

John knew the bullshit that usually followed, and thought about how this time Dutch wasn’t going to talk his way out of this one. There was a tense silence in the air that followed after Dutch spoke. John waited in anticipation of what would happen next.

Sure enough, a shot fired that broke the seal of the temporary conversation between Dutch and Cornwall. John scarcely heard Arthur and him move for cover, speaking to each other in a rushed tone as they did.

“What do we do know?”

A pause as gunshots rang in the air.

“We find a way to get out of here!” Dutch hissed back to him.

“Wait, but what about Marston-”

More shots interrupt as they whizzed into the wood that the two of them hid behind.

“Come on, we need to go. Now.”

“_Dutch_, what about Marston?” Arthur’s voice seemed tense.

Dutch started to sound impatient as he responded, “I’m sure he left at the first sight of trouble, son, I wouldn’t be worried.”

“His horse is still here, Dutch, I don’t think-”

“Dammit, Arthur, I _said_ don’t worry. We just gotta, we- _ahh shit!”_

It was audible that Dutch’s frustration was beginning to rise. His lack of control over the situation spiraling as he tried to convince Arthur to forget about John.

“Just drop it. We have to go.”

“I’m not leaving without John.”

John’s attention snapped back to the two men as he heard them laughing, distracted as he watched the one who initially punched him mount onto his horse. It took only a moment for John to realize what was happening. His eyes followed the rope secured around his legs in horror to trail up to the end held in the thug’s hand, a look of malice plastered across his face.

John desperately tried to loosen the ropes around his hands, wiggling his body from side to side. For all his efforts, he was still bound too tightly. His energy only wasted in the pointless attempt to escape.

It dawned on John just how bad the situation was turning, trying to call out for the attention of his peers not far off from where he was bound. His muffled screaming only mixed in with the chaos that surrounded them, doing him no good in the attempt.

The thug reveled in John’s struggle, eyes lit up with a wickedness as he watched him. When John thought he might burst from anticipation, the thug finally spurred his horse forward.

He violently tensed, squeezing his eyes shut as he listened to the rope unravel off the ground until there was a deafening _whip_, sending him hurtling across the ground.

Suddenly John’s whole world was abruptly put on its head as he was dragged through the streets of town. His eyes were still screwed shut while he tried to compact himself as tightly as he could. It did little to help the beating he received from every angle, his body only twisting around. He brought his tied hands to cover his head, trying to soften some of the blow.

Every bump and rock in the road felt like a punch to his gut or his side. What could have been minutes felt like hours as he was slowly getting beaten to a pulp.

The whole time, John couldn’t help but think of Dutch. It was almost funny, in a sick and twisted way. How this cruel situation only reminded him of what he endured from the very same man he fought for, and in turn, was being damned for. In some way he couldn’t imagine ever escaping this torture, symbolic to his life already, in a sense.

Yet John had never felt pain like this before. This was neverending.

Gunshots still rang out around him as the fight ensued, growing distant by the passing seconds as he was hauled away. His coat flailed behind him, making his shirt gradually ride up along his back and exposing his skin to the harsh terrain he was pulled along. John was sure his body was covered in cuts and bruises at this point, silently begging for it to stop.

When he thought he might finally pass out from the pain, he heard a sudden _snap_ that made him slide a few more feet until stopping in a cloud of dust that collected around him.

He didn’t dare open his eyes yet, not believing the rope to actually be broken. John still braced himself like it would start up again any moment, curling himself into a ball.

“Fucking _animals!” _He heard someone yell faintly, for the blood that rushed in his ears muted the world around him. There was a sickening sound of a knife across someone’s neck, then the sputtering of their last breath.

“No! No, please, I-” The dull thud of that same knife cut off the cry of plea as John heard someone else get stabbed.

The quiet that followed somehow seemed worse than all the noise, until he heard footsteps approach him, making John tense in fear of being next.

“Hey, you’re okay now, it’s okay.” He felt arms wrap around his frail body, suddenly realizing how hard he was shaking when he jumped at the touch.

John started squirming, throwing himself around to try and escape the grasp around him.

“_Nuhnnnuhnnuh,_” he tried to protest through the bandana tied around his mouth. The hands that held John gently tried to steady him, until they lifted to untie the bandana.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s me, you’re safe now!”

John finally did open his eyes when he recognized Arthur’s voice, staring up in disbelief. Arthur looked back at him, eyes full of worry as he scanned John’s face. He then quickly brought out his knife to cut the restraints around his hands and feet.

Without thinking, John threw his arms around Arthur, feeling warm tears run down his face. He held onto him so tightly while trembling uncontrollably, not caring in that moment about anything between them.

“John?” Arthur sounded surprised, but he moved his arms to hold him again.

“Come on, we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

John didn’t say anything, but Arthur gently lifted him up. He whistled for his horse, who came bounding towards them. But instead of going to mount Bandit, Arthur turned towards Old Boy. John didn’t notice his horse had been next to them, wondering if Arthur had gotten his horse from the saloon before coming to get him.

“This might hurt but I need you to be strong for me, alright? It’ll just take a second. We have to get moving, there’ll be more of them soon.”

John only nodded, which was enough for Arthur, placing him on the back of Old Boy. John yelled out in pain, feeling as though his muscles ripped under fragile skin from the slight movement.

“Arthur, I can’t.” John was startled by how hoarse his voice sounded, almost not recognizing it.

Arthur’s face twisted in empathy, “I know, but I need to get you out of here.” His response was shaky, John noting the way the corners of his mouth fell.

Arthur brought a hand across his face, looking around them and John knew he was thinking of what to do next.

“I can’t bring you back to camp, it’s not safe anymore…”

John started to slip off his horse, weak from the pain that threatened to make him pass out. Arthur noticed, bringing up a hand to John’s side.

“Okay, okay. I think I know somewhere we can go.” He lifted himself into the saddle, “Just hold on to me, okay? I think this man can help us, he’s always been real kind and he owes me, we can go there.”

John obediently wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, holding on as tight as he could.

“Come on, girl!” Arthur called over his shoulder for Bandit to follow, then clicked for Old Boy to go. The last thing John saw were the thugs from earlier lay in a pool of their own blood before he buried his face into Arthur’s back.

-

The jostling of Old Boy’s galloping proved to be an excruciating experience for John, who had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out in pain as the two escaped. It felt as though his body was a bag of broken bones being shaken around. As much effort as he put into keeping himself together, he wasn’t able to stop the tears from running down his face and dampening Arthur’s shirt.

Arthur didn’t slow his pace the whole way to wherever he was riding, making John’s eyes snap open when he finally did pull back on Old Boy’s reins.

“Whoa, boy.”

They made it to a small cabin amidst a dense forest that John wasn’t familiar with. The late afternoon sun filtering through the overcast of branches above them. John was relieved to hear nothing more than the sounds of the forest, making him feel a little bit safer.

He slowly unlatched himself from around Arthur, his joints stiff from not moving for the duration of the ride out of Valentine.

Arthur slid off the horse and reached out to get John off, too. He fell right into his grasp, bringing an arm up around his neck. Arthur cradled him closely to his chest, walking with such a delicate step that John had never thought was capable of the other man.

They approached the door to the cabin, which Arthur brought up a fist to knock against. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a man in a straw sun hat that John thought was a little on the small side.

“I’m sorry to come so unexpectedly, Mister Mason, but I’m afraid I need your help.”

The man known as Mister Mason had dark brown hair with a full beard and a kind face, looking at Arthur then to John with his brow furrowed in worry.

“Oh my! Please, come in, bring him here!”

The man motioned to a cot that he quickly tried to declutter by picking up a stack of old books left there. Arthur brought John over, softly lowering him down. A wave of exhaustion overtook him once he finally lay still. The room wouldn’t stop spinning above him, bringing up a hand to cover his eyes. Even the slight motion caused him immense pain, his muscles protesting at the strain.

His agony must have been evident, hearing Arthur’s hushed voice trying to ease him, “just take it easy now.”

John felt a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch away. Arthur’s hand reeled back, and John squinted up to see him back away slightly, his expression turning somber.

A second later, Mister Mason returned fussing over John. He could briefly hear him offering to find more pillows before Arthur interrupted him, saying something as he led the man over to the next room.

The thought of being left alone terrified John in his delicate state. And as much as he wanted to pass out from exhaustion, he didn’t think he could. His heart still hammered in his chest, even though he knew he was far away from Valentine and that those men were long dead.

It took John by surprise when he saw Arthur re-enter the room, this time without the company of Mister Mason. Instead, he held a porcelain bowl, a cloth, and a stern expression. Holding the bowl in one hand, he picked up a chair with his other to place in front of the bed John lay on in one swift motion.

“Sit up, look at me. Slowly.”

John did as he said, as difficult as it was to move.

Arthur put the bowl down on a table beside him, bringing his hand to hold John’s jaw. He held him tenderly, careful as he angled John’s face to study him.

Deeming there wasn’t anything too serious, he let out a breath and dropped his hand. He didn’t say anything as he brought out the cloth and dipped it in the bowl that was filled with water, although John could see how his expression darkened.

Bringing the damp cloth up to John’s nose, he gently cleaned the blood that had dried there. John pulled back a bit from the contact and Arthur let him. His eyes teared up again, not sure if it was from the pain or the trauma. Slowly, a tear pooled over the edge, sending a warm streak to roll down his cheek.

Arthur caught it, wiping it away, then dropped his hand and looked away from John. He suddenly felt the urge to fall into him again, to have himself be wrapped in the comfort of his arms while he cried and tried to forget. Once again he was tempted to tell him everything about Dutch, and how it was proven by his willingness to leave John behind.

But he wouldn’t.

John kept his focus on Arthur, seeing the way his jaw clenched. His eyes darting down to see Arthur’s hand squeeze into a fist.

“To think that they could’ve-”

“I’m okay.” John swallowed dryly, lip trembling as he interrupted him.

Arthur’s face contorted in anger, suddenly rising off the chair. He paced in front of John, whose eyes followed him.

“What they _did_ to you-those fucking _bastards! _You could have-”

“But you were there.”

Arthur finally looked him in the eyes. John tried to muster enough energy to give him a smile, but feared it only came out broken.

Instantly, the anger melted from Arthur’s face, and he was back in the chair in front of John.

“ ‘Course I was there,” he muttered out as he brought the cloth back up to John’s face. “I wasn’t just gunna leave you.”

John dropped his gaze. Arthur still believed John had left him all those years ago, and despite it all, here he was. When John was convinced time and time again that Arthur would leave him to rot because of what he had done, only to be proven wrong. Against Dutch’s will, who would happily be rid of him. Even against his own word of admitting he felt nothing for John. It begged the question, _why? Why didn’t he leave him?_

The question sat on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare ask it. Too afraid of what Arthur’s response might be.

“Jesus, what have they done to you,” he said it under his breath, yet it was enough to make John’s throat tighten.

With the blood from his nose now clean, Arthur moved to wash over a cut on his cheek where the stitches came loose. The two sat in silence for the remainder of the time Arthur spent cleaning him up. All the while, John studied him. The way his face was all screwed up in concentration.

Their faces were so close, he could count every one of Arthur’s eyelashes. He wanted to focus on every inch of his face, but couldn’t make himself look away from his eyes. How John was so close he could see the way they turned from a deep blue at the edges to pool into a turquoise that split so drastically to vibrant green it made him wonder how so much colour could be contained within them.

John found himself getting lost there, and all the memories they once held. An uneasy feeling set itself in the pit of his stomach that John couldn’t describe any other way than…homesick.

When had they become such strangers? He used to look into those eyes daily and now he couldn’t help but wonder when had he forgotten every single detail of his face? Or the new scar he got across his mouth that somehow complimented his features even more? When did he stop looking at the person in front of him and have the joy he felt replaced by a sickening dread and reminder of the worst mistake he had ever made in his life. John knew when, but somehow it never really set in.

Years with this space between them yet John could swear they were only kids yesterday. And now the severity of it overwhelmed him, and he suddenly wasn’t crying from the events from earlier that day.

“Hey, hey,” Arthur’s voice brought him back to reality, he spoke so painfully soft that it only made John want to cry harder.

“You’re gunna be fine, you just need to rest now. You must be exhausted.”

He was, even if that’s not the reason he was so emotional at that moment. But Arthur was right, John felt his eyelids growing heavy. Tired now that the adrenaline from his fear had worn off and so emotionally drained that sleep was about the only thing he could really handle now.

“Okay.” John felt his dry lips form the word but couldn’t recognize the voice which spoke it.

The time it took for him to lay down and close his eyes was lost to him as he instantly fell asleep. So deep fell his unconsciousness that he wasn’t even frequented by the nightmares of Nico, only subjected to a blackened slumber in its place.

-

The smell of stew cooking hit John before he fully woke. His eyes fluttered open, taking in the room he lay in properly now.

The cabin was small and cozy, the walls covered in framed photographs ranging from failed family portraits to wildlife and even some self portraits in various different locations. There were maps, too, that scattered across any surface in the room, with quickly written notes sprawled across them.

Half empty cups of tea were left long forgotten on top of stacked books and papers that made their way to the floor. Photography equipment lay haphazardly in any of the free space left over, making the whole room a museum of oddities. 

From the little that John perceived, the place suited Mister Mason’s character perfectly.

“The golden boy arises,” Arthur came into the room with a bowl of stew in his hands, offering it to John.

John took his time sitting up, still sore, “don’t feel too golden at the moment.” He took the bowl gratefully from his hands, “thanks.” His mouth watered just from the smell, ravenous as he shoveled down the contents.

He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him, but didn’t care as he slurped the remainder of the stew down with just the bowl to his lips.

When he lowered the bowl he could see Arthur trying to hide a look of amusement as he sat down in a chair set up across from him.

“What?”

Arthur shook his head, “nothin’. Just glad you’re feeling better. You look like a damn raccoon eatin’ that.”

John gave a laugh, “yeah, well, I do feel a lot better.”

There was a pause, then John looked over at Arthur, “thanks for uh, getting me out of there.”

Arthur gave a nod, dropping his gaze to the floor, “sure, yeah.”

Another uncomfortable silence followed. John wanted to say more, but couldn’t think of exactly what.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you more, uh… more cleaned up,” Arthur cleared his throat while John was sure he could see his cheeks growing slightly red. “I didn’t want to disturb you or anything while you were restin’… or anything…”

John looked to the same tattered shirt he was wearing from the day before, the fabric torn and stained all over. “Oh, yeah, no worries,” he was secretly grateful Arthur didn’t get the chance to.

“Albert said he was gunna get a bath ready for you, so, there’s that.” Arthur rubbed the side of his neck awkwardly. It was something John hadn’t seen him do in a long time, almost bringing a smile to his lips.

A loud crash sounded from the entrance to the room they sat in, making both their heads snap in the direction. Albert had stumbled in, almost tripping over the leg of a tripod.

“Don’t mind me,” he gave a small chuckle, “silly me, didn’t mean to disturb the two of you.”

“No, not at all,” Arthur wore a look of relief.

“Oh, good!” He took a few cautious steps toward John. “Your warm bath is awaiting you, sir,” he gave the smallest of bows, wearing a timid smile on his face.

John blinked, “uh, thank you, that’s really kind-”

“Oh, shoot! I made you a cup of tea, as well! Apologies, one moment, I _knew_ I forgot something,” Albert quickly retreated back to the room he’d come from, leaving the two alone once more.

“He’s one strange fellow,” John said, looking over to Arthur with a laugh.

Arthur returned it, “yeah, but his heart’s in the right place.”

He then stood from his chair. “I think it’s time to go back to camp, let everyone know that we're okay. I’m sure it’s a complete shit show with what happened with Cornwall, I’ll be expecting them to be halfway packed up and ready to move by now.”

John nodded, Arthur continuing, “you should stay here, there’s no point for you to come back while you’re like this.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur spoke before he could, “I’ll tell Abigail you’re okay, don’t worry. And as soon as we're settled into our new place I’ll send someone to come get you.”

That wasn’t the reason John was going to say something, and a small part of him believed that Arthur knew it, too. He wanted to go with Arthur, or more so he wanted Arthur to stay. But how could he ask that of him? When he knew that Arthur was right. They needed him, as much as John secretly wanted to need him, too.

So John stayed silent, only watching as Arthur grabbed his hat and coat from beside him and went to go see Albert.

He lingered at the doorway for a moment, “I know you’ve come to depend on me quite a bit for saving your ass so many times now but, try not to die while I’m gone,” Arthur shot him a genuine smile, making John incapable of a response.

He moved to the other room, where John could hear him thanking Albert for everything he’d done. The sound of the door opening followed, and then he was gone.

John didn’t move, lost in thought of everything that transpired and what it meant until Albert’s head popped into the room. “Your bath, Mister Marston?”

John blinked back to the present, focusing on Albert. “Right, yes.”

With slow rendered movement, he stood and followed Albert toward the bath room. The man held the door open, John thanking him while he slipped inside. Once alone, he started undressing. He was careful removing his shirt, having to peel it from his skin from the blood that glued it there.

When he managed to remove his shirt, he discarded it to the floor, gently removing the rest of his clothing before lowering himself into the tub full of water.

He sunk right in, exhaling in relief as he did. The water was the perfect temperature, easing his aching muscles instantly. Letting his head rest against the end of the tub, he closed his eyes and let himself relax.

After letting himself soak for much longer than he needed to, he reluctantly stood and exited the bath. He took the time to dry himself off, still struggling in his movements to do so. He then picked up his pants, sliding them on.

Looking over at his shirt, his nose wrinkled. He thought it a shame to ruin the intention of his bath by putting it back on. Walking over to pick it up, he became distracted as something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

Opposite of him faced a mirror, which John was surprised to catch his reflection in. He could’ve sworn it was someone else for a moment, not being able to recognize himself from just how beaten up and bruised he looked.

He wore a newly acquired black eye, with scrapes circling his features. His scars looked as prominent as ever, with their stitches coming loose from the aggravation they’d endured.

He wondered how Arthur saw him when he had cleaned him up the day before, and if he could even see what was left of John there anymore. God knows John didn’t.

His mind briefly thought back to their interaction from last night, his breath catching in his lungs. The image of Arthur’s concerned look for him dissolved as the rap of knuckles sounded against the bath room door.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Mister Marston. I left you some fresh clothes on the chair adjacent the mirror, if you’d like them.”

John looked behind him, sure enough seeing a stack of neatly folded clothes. He gingerly picked up a red with white stripes collared shirt.

Upon inspecting the pants, he decided on sticking with his own. The ones Albert provided were a little too pompous for the likes of John, knowing he would be the laughing stock of camp if he returned wearing them.

He finished buttoning up his shirt, tucking it in his pants and bringing a fresh pair of suspenders to sit on his shoulders. Leaving the room, he found Albert back in the space he woke up in that morning.

“Thank you, Mister Mason, for everything. You’ve been more than generous.”

Albert waved it off, “oh, it’s of no bother. Besides, you should be thanking your friend, Mister Morgan. He wouldn’t leave your side the whole night, even went out to catch some food to cook up this morning. I merely provided a place where you might rest your bones, is all.”

John’s eyebrows rose at Albert’s words. He was surprised, and almost a little embarrassed at the thought of Arthur keeping him company while he slept.

“He is a good man, you know, what he did for you. A good fellow.”

“Yeah…” John agreed with him. “I probably would’ve been dead if it weren’t for him.”

John looked down, a little in shame of himself, “he’s a better man than me.”

He’d said it more to himself than Albert, but the other man gave a stern shake of his head, “oh, I’m sure that’s not true!”

John gave a little laugh, though it was filled with spite, “I can assure you, I do not deserve the kindness he showed me by bringing me here. Nor that of yours, Mister Mason.”

“Nonsense! What makes you less deserving than any other man out there? I may not know you very well but I know a good soul when I see one. And I am confident enough to see it in our dear friend Mister Morgan, too. So him bringing you here out of care must count for something, no?”

John shook his head, “I’m afraid what we share is… more of an obligation toward one another as part of a, uh, much larger family.”

Albert didn’t look convinced, “if you say so, Mister Marston.”

“Please,” John gave him a smile, “John’s just fine. I’m not much for formalities, I’m afraid.”

Albert returned the gesture, revealing a wide smile that stretched across his face, “then Albert’s just fine, too.”

“Now, onto more important things. Would you like a cup of tea? Or are you hungry? You’re more than welcome to something more to eat, or perhaps if you’d like to rest more. I could always-”

“Albert,” John interjected, making him stop mid ramble. “I can assure you, I’m just fine.”

Albert wore a look of relief, and John couldn’t help but feel his appreciation grow for the other man at his visible concern for him.

“Well then,” Albert thought for a moment, his eyes scanning around the room before landing back on John.

“Do you like photography, John?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It’s been quite the rollercoaster with these two in the past few chapters. I’m curious to see how you guys are finding it. I’m not gunna lie, it’s very hard not being able to jump in and give Arthur a voice in all the interactions between them, but I hope it comes through well enough anyways. I had a lot of fun including Albert in this last chapter! I really liked him in the game so I thought it would be cute to include him. :’) 
> 
> I know ya’ll are probably sick of me talking about Arthur’s eyes, I get it but I cANT OKAY. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been commenting so far! The support has honestly meant so much to me and keeps me going. :)


	9. Part IX

The sky was a perfect shade of blue, with fluffy clouds that made John feel like he was sitting inside of a painting. He had spent the past few days enjoying the warmer breeze the wind carried alongside Albert’s presence. He was grateful for the man’s hospitality but had grown eager to return to the gang.

John hoped they were okay, not having heard any word from anyone since his arrival at Albert’s cabin. It wasn’t unusual, since they were undoubtedly just keeping a low profile, but he was uneasy nevertheless.

Luckily, most of the time Albert kept John preoccupied with helping him do his photography. It kept his mind free from the anxiousness he felt. John had become an assistant of sorts, aiding Albert in finding the best spots to photograph wildlife.

“Here?”

The sun shined down on John as he set Albert’s tripod on the ground amidst a clearing. The photographer’s head popped up from digging around in his bag, “yes, that’s perfect, Mister Marston!”

“John,” he corrected with a smile.

Albert gave a sheepish grin, returning to his bag once more, “right, apologies. John.”

John had spent their time together constantly reminding the other man to call him by his first name, yet Albert always retreated to his polite roots. It was certainly a contrast to what he was used to, not at all close to the usual treatment he received as a wanted outlaw. Of course, John didn’t believe the man to be naive, how he must know that the likes of him and Arthur were not like most other people. But Albert didn’t seem to care, at least he never voiced any concerns on the matter.

Albert came up beside John, holding the camera he’d retrieved from his bag. Carefully, he placed it on the head of the tripod, setting it up to angle slightly upward.

They were after the Pileated Woodpecker. A tough subject to capture, in Albert’s words. He thought that with their combined effort, he may be able to finally pull the feat off. John suggested this area, sure to travel to a dense enough part of the forest where the bird would likely be spotted.

“I’ve put some berries out in hopes of attracting one,” Albert motioned over to where he came from. “Now all that’s left to do is to wait.”

“Sure.” John stood beside Albert, following his line of sight to the tops of the trees.

Albert produced a pair of binoculars to search above them. Every once in a while he’d tense when it looked like he had spotted something, only to slouch in disappointment when it wasn’t the woodpecker he was in search of.

Eventually, John sat himself against a trunk of a nearby tree, patiently waiting in the comfort of its shade. He tried not to let his mind wander, instead, taking in the beauty of nature that surrounded them. He felt at peace watching the birds fly above, and the tiny squirrels and rabbits that scurried around the forest floor.

A small gasp escaped Albert, who pointed a finger toward a nearby tree, “there.”

John followed his gaze to where he gestured, seeing a ghost of white feathers against the trunk. Upon further inspection, he could make out a streak of red running down the head of the woodpecker. “Whoa.”

John slowly got up to get closer to Albert, who adjusted his camera to get a good shot.

“He doesn’t have any black feathers,” John quietly stated.

Albert gave a short nod, “right you are.”

“He doesn’t look like the other ones, he’s different.”

Albert pressed down to take the picture, sending a plume of smoke to the air with the sound of the shutter ringing out for a split second. Surprisingly, the ghost woodpecker didn’t fly off from the commotion, barely even flinching as it moved its head in their direction.

“It seems not only were we successful in finding one but stumbled across a rather rare variation of the species!”

John studied it, almost convinced that the creature was studying them back with intelligible eyes. He was beautiful but stood out like a sore thumb amongst the dark branches and leaves.

“Must be lonely,” John thought aloud. “Being the only abnormal one around. Are you not disappointed that he doesn’t look like the rest?”

“On the contrary!” Albert turned to smile broadly at him, “this particular woodpecker is a gift! You see, nature can be so exciting. Just when you think you’ve come to understand it, it throws you something unexpected. To find a bird different from the others is refreshing, such things should be cause for celebration in a world that can be so bland at times.”

John let Albert’s thought sink in, deciding he liked the other man’s perspective on it. He’d called it a gift, whereas others might’ve called it a flaw. He continued thinking about it for a while, lingering on his mind even as they packed up the equipment and took the decent walk back to their horses.

By the time John and Albert made it to the cabin, the day was coming to a close. He was starting to grow fond of Alberts simple life tucked away in the forest, but once again felt the anxious pull of not hearing from anyone back at camp. Luckily, the few days here had given his body the chance to heal, admittedly finding his current living arrangements much more agreeable. It was nice to sleep under a proper roof for once.

The next morning, John woke up alone without any sign of Albert. Upon entering the kitchen, he found a note in Albert’s writing saying that he took a trip to the post office and that he didn’t wish to disturb John.

Retreating back to the main room, John couldn’t help but study the odd things that cluttered the space. There were devices strewn about that he couldn’t name if he was asked to. No doubt more equipment Albert used for his photography. The whole house was like a museum that continued to mesmerize John with each following day.

Out of the corner of his eye, a picture on the front page of a newspaper caught his attention. He furrowed his brow, thinking his eyes to deceive him in seeing who he thought it was. Moving closer to the desk it lay on, he felt his blood run cold at the realization that he had been right. There, staring at John was a picture of Nico. His eyes dropped to the writing underneath which stated:

_After months on the run, the Van der Linde Boys are still evading capture. With the events of the Blackwater Massacre still fresh in our minds and the murder of the innocent Heidi McCourt (pictured above), along with many others, we wonder why they are still at large. _

John had to still his hand as he read, not believing the words on the paper. There was that name again, ‘Heidi McCourt’. It taunted him from the page, making him wonder where it had come from. _Who the hell is Heidi McCourt?_

Whoever she was, she wasn’t Nico. That much John was sure of. And as much as he was curious about the name, he was more annoyed at how clever Dutch’s story was. If Nico was working for the law, or the Pinkertons, there was no way they would admit publicly having her be associated with them. Her death would’ve only been tying up a loose end. Of course, John knew it was all a lie, wishing there was some way to clear her name. He wished he knew more.

Turning the page over, he continued reading under the bold headline of:

** _TWENTY-SEVEN DEAD AT THE VALENTINE SHOOTOUT. EIGHT LOCALS._ **

_Eight locals?! _John wondered to himself. Shaken to the core of how this was caused by the event he was present for only a couple of days prior. 

Even if these locals did wield guns in defense of their town, he was sure Dutch would be able to avoid shooting one, never mind eight innocent people. His heart dropped a little at the thought of Arthur being there, too.

_The Valentine shootout is believed to be the result of the earlier robbery of a Leviticus Cornwall transport coach, catching the attention of the Pinkerton Detective Agency in the investigation to whether the train robbery and Blackwater Massacre are in any relation to the same group of outlaws._

He tossed the newspaper aside, worked up from the anger that rose inside him. This was all Dutch’s fault. He was becoming this unstoppable force backed by greed and foolish choices that would be the undoing of their gang. It would only be a matter of time before his vicious nature would unravel out of control.

So overwhelmed by the contents of the newspaper, John almost didn’t notice the sound of Albert entering through the front door.

“Ah, John! Good morning, sir. Are you well?”

John gave a nod, “sure.” He tried to give the man a convincing smile as he forced his gloomy thoughts from his mind. He noticed a small parcel in Albert’s hands, curiosity piquing his interest.

“You pick something up?”

Albert looked down at the small package as if he had forgotten about it, “oh, yes! Some of my prints arrived today, would you like to see them?”

John nodded enthusiastically, and watched as Albert gently undid the string that tied the wrapping together. He then came over to sit beside John.

Albert unfolded the papers to reveal a short stack of photographs, picking up the first one which depicted a buck. Its head was up, with knowing eyes that seemed to stare right at John. His antlers reached toward the skies, complementing the mountainous terrain he stood in front of.

John couldn’t help from reaching to take the photo from Albert’s hand to inspect it more closely. “That’s amazing!”

“Ah, yes, I remember that buck. Gave me quite the challenge, he did. I originally was after capturing a deer, but couldn’t seem to shake this one’s attention. The nerve of the animal, tried to run me over! And almost succeeded, too.”

Albert lifted the second picture, “see, here she is.” He handed it over for John to see. Sure enough, this one showed a deer nibbling some berries from a bush, completely unaware of the camera.

“Oh,” Albert gave a little chuckle, already having moved onto the next picture. I think you’ll quite enjoy this one.”

John accepted the photo he held out, seeing an action shot of a coyote running off with Albert’s bag hanging from its mouth.

“Cheeky little thing, that one. If it weren’t for your friend, I’d have never gotten my things back!”

John looked up at Albert, “Arthur help you with this one?”

“He did, indeed! And with another, too. Let me see if I can find it,” Albert started shuffling through the photos in his hand, but John was distracted by the next picture in the stack. He blinked, smiling to himself a little as he came to the conclusion that this one was by far his favourite.

He gingerly picked it out from the stack, Albert letting him as he continued to search.

“It’s got to be in this batch somewhere, I _know_ I sent that reel out. You see, there were these God forsaken creatures that almost killed me! Managed to snap a few good ones before they tried ripping me to shreds, though…” Albert continued talking, but John tuned out as he studied the photo in his hands.

It was a picture of Arthur, who was smiling. It was a genuine one, which proved to be a rare sight for John. Somehow the image alone made him feel butterflies in his stomach, the way his smile reached his eyes with how they crinkled. He was captured from the waist up, holding one hand on his hip and the other up like he was about to say something. It was a candid shot where he wasn’t looking at the camera, which probably made sense as to why Albert was able to print it. If Arthur had known, there was no way he would’ve let him.

John couldn’t tear his eyes away, Arthur’s image was always well captured in photographs. Most of the pictures they had growing up were group photos where no one smiled, not like this. This one rendered John in awe, the exact moment living on forever through the photograph. It made him wish he could go back in time and capture some of his favourite memories together.

“Here it is!” Albert produced a photo from the pile before noticing John’s attention on the one he already held.

Albert leaned over to look at it. “Right! I almost forgot about that picture, I got it printed with the intention of gifting it to Mister Morgan. He’s been so helpful with my foolish endeavour, I really felt I owed him.”

“Well, if I know Arthur I’m sure he enjoyed helping you, he’s too curious not to. He’s got so many stories about the people he’s met, I’m not at all surprised that you’d be one of them.”

Albert gave a little chuckle, “he is definitely an interesting man. Nevertheless, would you mind passing it on to him? I’d very much appreciate it.”

“Sure, yeah..” John got up to find his satchel, placing the photograph inside with the intention of giving it to Arthur. _Eventually, _that is. For now, he thought he might hang onto it. And even as Albert went on to ramble about the other animal encounters he’d experienced while taking their likeness, John thought about how none could compare.

A steady knock at the door made John suddenly look up and Albert almost jump out of his skin with an “_Ahh!”_ Taking a moment to compose himself, he stood and went to answer the door.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Hi. Is John here?”

John peered over to see a familiar form stood at the entrance, making him stand up abruptly. “Charles, that you?”

Charles noticed John, giving him a relieved smile before his eyes darted back to Albert.

“This is Albert Mason, a good man. He’s been helping me get back on my feet these past couple days.”

Charles gave Albert a stern nod, “Seems we owe you our thanks.”

Albert bashfully waved it away, “it was of no trouble, I assure you, sir.”

“Please, Charles.”

John swore he could see Albert’s cheeks heat up a little as he continued, “Well then, would you like to come in for a cup of tea, Charles?”

“Thank you, but I’ve come to collect John and I’m sure he’s eager to return-”

“Yes! Yes,” John interrupted, “how is everyone? Did everyone make it okay?”

“Everyone’s fine. Abigail and the little one are safe, Arthur was the last to join us.”

John let out a breath, “good, that’s good.”

_Thank God, _he was relieved that everyone made it in one piece. A new flood of anticipation for returning overcoming him from the news.

“I’ll let you say goodbye,” Charles said as he gave him and Albert a nod, retreating to the horses.

John turned back to Albert, “thank you, for everything. How can I ever repay you for the kindness you’ve shown me?”

Albert gave a modest shake of his head, “please, as I told your friend, it was of no bother. Might I say, I rather enjoyed the company.”

“Well then, it’s been a pleasure,” John held out his hand to Albert, who looked down at it for a brief moment before clamping it in a firm grasp. The other man’s eyes glistened a little before he pulled John into a hug. Caught off by the gesture, John hesitated before giving Albert a slight pat on the back.

Albert pulled back, already apologizing profusely, “sorry, John, forgive me. I just-I hope the world treats you a little kinder in future.”

John smiled slightly at that. Albert was a kind man that he was grateful to have met, even if it was under such a terrible circumstance.

“And please,” he continued, “if you ever find yourself in the area, do not hesitate to stop by.”

John nodded, “of course. Thanks again, Albert.”

Walking back into the makeshift bedroom in Albert’s cabin, he took one last look around the room. He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss the comfort of the place.

Grabbing his gunbelt from where it sat idle for the past few days, John secured it around his waist before picking up his coat and satchel. As he left the cabin for the last time, John found Charles waiting by his horse for him.

He looked up when John approached, “ready to go?”

John gave a firm nod, climbing on the back of Old Boy.

“Let’s go.”

Charles took the lead, mounting and walking his horse in the direction of the pathway away from the secluded cabin. John looked back to Albert, who stood at the entrance. He waved them off, and John returned the farewell with a flick of his hand.

The two spurred their horses, leaving the cabin behind them in their pursuit of the main path. They eased into a steady pace through the countryside, careful to avoid any roads that were known to be busier.

John forced Old Boy to ride up next to Charles, “how’s the new spot? Is it a good place to lie low?”

Charles gave a stiff nod, “It’s definitely more secluded than the last place. I found it myself.” He looked over to John, “figured I could be the one to show you.”

Charles turned his gaze back to the road ahead of them once more. John noted the way his expression seemed more hardened than usual, brows creased to indicate his loss in thought. It wasn’t unlike Charles to be reserved, but John sensed something was bothering him.

“I’m glad you’re the one who came to get me, it’s good to see you.”

Charles’ features softened somewhat as his attention focused back on John, “of course. I’m glad you’re okay, do you remember what happened?”

John frowned slightly at the thought of what happened back in Valentine. “Not much, I, uh, wasn’t with Dutch n’ Arthur when everything went down with Cornwall.”

“I heard. I’m glad Arthur found you. From how he described the whole thing, you’re lucky to have gotten out of there.”

John nodded, feeling his skin crawl from the recent memory. “How much did he tell you?”

“Only a little.” Charles paused for a moment before adding, “he seemed.. off when we spoke.”

“How do you mean?”

Charles took his time in replying as if choosing his words carefully. “He seemed a little wary of how Dutch handled the situation. I don’t know if you heard about it after you escaped but they were calling it a bloodbath… awfully similar to Blackwater.” His deepened frown returned, “but this time it was just Dutch.”

“And Arthur,” John added, though it sounded almost like a question.

“Hmm.” Charles’ face screwed up slightly, “I don’t know. To be honest, Arthur made it sound like he got out of there pretty fast.”

John let the thought sink in, surprised when Charles broke the silence once more.

“We’re supposed to be avoiding trouble, not causing more. What was Dutch thinking? Why didn’t he just get out of there as soon as he could?”

It was rare to see Charles so shaken, taken aback by the fluctuation in his voice. “Where will it end? The moving, the running?”

He still avoided looking directly at John, making him think he wasn’t asking him as much as just voicing his concern. John could tell it upset him. Charles had only been running with the gang for half a year or so, clearly unimpressed by the recent direction the gang had taken with their poor choices.

John swallowed, wanting to reassure Charles but finding it hard to come up with anything to say. John was probably the worst of the lot of them to consult in, having no kind words to offer about Dutch.

Charles gave a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, brother. You’ve got enough on your mind, I’m sure.”

“Charles.”

“Hmm?”

John slowed his horse until he came to a steady halt. Charles didn’t notice immediately, turning his head back toward John when he didn’t answer right away. He stopped his own horse, a look of interest dawning his face.

“What is it, John?”

Pressing his lips together nervously, John thought carefully about what he would say next.

“Back in Valentine, when Cornwall showed up… I was by some of his men. They threw me into an alley beside the saloon Dutch and Arthur were held up at.”

Attentively, Charles listened to what John was saying, waiting for him to continue. John drew a shaky breath.

“I could hear them talking from where I was tied up and… I thought Dutch was going to cut me loose, I thought-” he broke off the sentence as his throat tightened.

“What you went through,” Charles started, his voice softer than a moment earlier. “I couldn’t even imagine. It was horrible what those men did to you. But to feel abandoned by your family… John, I am so sorry.”

John shook his head, blinking away the tears that had started to form in his eyes.

“One of the reasons I joined this gang was because of the loyalty shared amongst its members,” Charles continued. “Dutch always said that no one gets left behind, and Arthur managed to get you out of there-”

“What _Arthur _did isn’t what I’m worried about. It’s Dutch, Charles. I fear if Arthur wasn’t there, Dutch would have left me behind.”

The words hung in the air, suddenly making John so aware of how bold they were now that they were spoken out loud. He studied Charles, scared that he may react as Arthur did when he mentioned the same concern over Dutch.

He hadn’t meant to admit his feelings about Dutch so openly to Charles, knowing the man respected him as much as most of their peers did. John had been reserved about Dutch all of his life but had become so overwhelmed with what happened in the past couple months that his actions had become brash.

Charles gave a slow nod, “I understand your concern.”

John exhaled in relief, not realizing the breath he held in anticipation, “you do?”

“Dutch didn’t speak about what really happened at Blackwater, and now he avoids talking about what he did in Valentine. It has me questioning his methods. Arthur seems a little shaken, and now you, too? I can’t ignore something like that.”

John felt a sudden buzz from his words, almost not trusting his ears to believe what he was hearing be true. “What do you think will happen next?”

Charles let out a deep sigh through his nose.

“I trust Dutch.”

John’s eyes dropped. He knew he did, yet the statement still dealt a hard blow.

“But I trust you, too. And Arthur.”

His eyes flickered back up to Charles, widened in surprise.

“For all I know, Dutch may not have had another choice. In Valentine and in Blackwater. But I think I’ll be keeping a closer eye on things. And if you notice anything, tell me. I will be speaking with Arthur, too.”

He straightened Taima back on the road, signaling that the conversation was over for now. “Come on, we should get going.”

With that, Charles urged his horse to continue moving forward. John followed, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than a moment before. To know that Charles had the slightest shred of doubt about Dutch made John want to cry from relief.

The thought that Dutch’s risky actions finally had repercussions, even if they were minuscule, gave John the tiniest flicker of hope that ignited inside his chest. The feeling was a foreign one that John hadn’t been acquainted with in a long time. His mind was racing at the possibilities of what it could mean, that maybe there was change on the horizon.

With all that in mind, he couldn’t help but feel a little scared, too. After the years of abuse he’d received from Dutch and losing the only people who could do anything about it, John truly believed he could do nothing but accept it. But now, now he didn’t feel as alone as he did before.

Pushing down his thoughts, he tried not to get ahead of himself. He didn’t want to get his hopes up over the matter, so, for now, he focused his mind on his and Charles’ surroundings.

The low sunlight dappled John’s skin through the sparse branches above them as they made their way through another cluster of trees. The forests they found themselves in now weren’t as dense as where Albert’s cabin lay tucked away and had a different look to them.

The air was hotter, with a humidity that made John’s shirt cling to his back as they rode to their new camp. The path in front of them turned to a dusty red and seemed to reflect in the sky above them. Or perhaps it was the evening casting the earth in its warm glow. Either way, John felt like he was somewhere far from where they once were.

He thought that they must be getting close now, seeing a white wooden sign pop up ahead of them. He glanced over it as they passed by, the paint chipped from being weather worn.

WELCOME TO THE STATE OF LEMOYNE

“You guys fled to a completely different state?” John turned to ask Charles.

“Yeah, better safe than sorry. We’re near the water up this way, it’s a good spot.” Charles nodded in the direction of where their new camp was pitched, steering his horse on a small pathway that led into another heavily wooded grove. John would’ve completely overlooked it otherwise, but once they continued deeper into the shade of the overhanging branches, the path widened into a clearing just before the shore of an endless lake.

"Clemans Point," Charles stated to John at their arrival.

He could make out the familiar bustle of people strung about. Their tents and wagons were more spaciously placed than at Horseshoe Overlook, with more room for the horses, too. A thick, old looking tree was planted right in the middle, providing a promising shelter from the hot weather they would be experiencing here.

John followed Charles to a nearby hitching post, sliding off to secure Old Boy to it. He’d only just managed a tight enough knot when someone came charging toward him.

“John? John! Oh, thank God!”

Abigail threw her arms around John, making him stumble back a step before catching his balance.

She was off of him just as fast, holding him at an arm’s length, “you’re alive!”

John nodded, “so are you.”

Abigail made a noise that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a stifled cry, her eyes glistening as she smiled widely at him.

“How’s Jack?”

“He’s good, he’ll be even better now that you’re back. Come, are you hungry? There’s still some stew for you.”

She took his arm, leading him through their new camp. John looked around, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Is Arthur-”

“He’s out with Dutch and Hosea,” she interrupted him before he could finish, giving him a knowing look. “I’ll tell you more once we get you some food.”

His shoulders fell, giving in as she pulled him along. On one hand, he was glad Dutch wasn’t around to watch him like a hawk, but on the other, he was a little disappointed that Arthur wasn’t around for his return. Things would likely go back to how they were before. As if the moment shared between him and Arthur at Albert’s cabin never happened and would never be spoken about again.

The simple task of getting a hot bowl of stew from the cooking pot to his tent proved harder than he thought it would. As Abigail brought him over, he wouldn’t stop getting interrupted by the other gang members.

Some of the girls called out to say how happy they were to see him again, followed by Reverend Swanson, who stumbled by to say the same. He then began quoting a verse from the bible that John was sure he wasn’t reciting right. Only to become distracted by something else and finally leave John alone. Then there was Sadie, who practically jumped him, wearing a smile he wasn’t too used to seeing from her.

“John! You’re back, we missed you!”

She didn’t hug him like how some of the others had, which he was a little relieved of since he wasn’t used to the sudden amount of affection. Instead, she gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“I have to say, I’m glad to be back.”

She looked different from the last time he’d seen her, wearing a bright mustard yellow blouse and dark brown pants with a worn looking gun belt loosely buckled at her hips.

“You look good, Sadie.”

Her expression was a little skeptical at first, not knowing the sincerity behind John’s compliment. When he gave her a little reassuring nod, her smile reappeared.

“Thanks! Arthur and I went shopping and I thought I’d get myself a pair of pants, since most of the men around here don’t do a very good job of wearin’ them.”

He gave a laugh, “you’re right about that.”

He barely had time to say goodbye to her before Abigail whisked him away again. Javier tried to call out to John, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“You two can bond once he’s had something to eat! For now, you shut up and play your damn music!”

The last thing John saw before being shoved into his tent was a distraught looking Javier clenching onto his guitar.

The world muffled around him once he was inside the familiar canvas walls. He didn’t think he would miss it, yet looking around to find his few belongings struck a little homesickness within him.

The few books he owned were stacked neatly on top of his clothing chest, no doubt by Abigail. Some other odds and ends of his belongings lay organized on his side table.

“Thanks,” John breathed out to Abigail once he sat down on his bed with his bowl.

She sat in the chair across from him, “eat.”

He did so, scarfing down Pearson’s stew faster than he ever had before. It almost tasted good from how hungry he was.

All the while, Abigail watched him, even once he’d finished and set his bowl aside.

“So,” he broke the silence. “How have things been?”

“Tense,” Abigail pressed her lips together, eye contact not breaking his. “People weren’t too happy to be moving again so soon. Especially under the circumstance of doing so.”

“I see,” John fidgeted with his fingers.

Abigail gave an amused huff, smiling at the corners of her mouth as she dropped her gaze.

“Arthur’s fine.”

“I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, I know you’re wondering about him. I’m just teasing you by avoiding it,” her eyes were back on his, holding a mischievous glint within them. The amusement faded slightly, “he told me about what happened with you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am, only because of Arthur.”

She nodded, suddenly so serious, “thank _God_. I was scared when he showed up alone, not knowing what could possibly have happened to you.”

“I’m okay now,” he tried to reassure her.

“I know,” she let out a breath. “Waiting around was the worst part. I’m just so glad you’re back now.”

“Did Arthur say anything else?”

Abigail shook her head, “no, he mostly just checked in with me and the boy, made sure we were doing alright. He talked a little with Dutch, the two weren’t seemin’ too friendly toward one another when we first settled here.”

John tried to imagine how that must have looked, finding it hard to do so. Even though he knew Charles wasn’t lying to him about the fact that Arthur was clearly affected by what happened in Valentine, it was still hard to believe Arthur and Dutch butting heads over it.

A sudden thought occurred to John, confusion knitting his brows together. “If they don’t seem to be getting along too well, how come he’s out with Dutch and Hosea? What’re they doing?”

Abigail rolled her eyes, “they’ve gone fishing.”

His frown only deepened, wondering what the hell Arthur was doing by going out fishing with Dutch. A little offended at the notion, he tried not to let it show as he urged Abigail to continue, “they did?”

“I know, I know,” she raised her hands like even she didn’t get why they thought now was the right time for it. “The thing is, I think it was an olive branch from Dutch. This isn’t just _any_ member of the gang, it’s Arthur we’re talking about. I don’t think Dutch wants to lose the trust Arthur has for him.”

John let the thought sink in. That sounded like something Dutch would do, and it angered him.

For a moment, he thought about telling Abigail about Valentine, and how Dutch didn’t hesitate to leave him behind. But he bit his tongue, the last thing he wanted was her going after Dutch with the full intention of ripping him apart.

“Hey,” Abigail tried to regain his attention, her expression displaying a worry as if she could read his thoughts. “Arthur’s smart, if he’s worried about how Dutch is handling things he’ll speak up. Hosea’s no fool either, he’s been keeping Dutch in check for years.”

John nodded, but it felt hollow. He knew Abigail was trying her best to reassure him, but he couldn’t stop from thinking about how deep it ran. If Dutch convinces Arthur to look past this… he wouldn’t know what to think.

He stared out of the sliver of the tent’s entrance, completely lost to the present. Not knowing what he expected to see outside, as if he might catch a glimpse of Arthur. Like the man would appear out of thin air just from being talked about.

“I know you care about him.”

John’s head snapped back to Abigail, “what’re you talking about?”

She gave a soft smile, “Arthur.”

He blinked, sputtering over his words in an attempt to respond, “well, I mean yeah, I-we’ve known each other a long time-I just mean I trust him as a fellow member of the gang-”

“I’m no fool, John, I see the way you look at him.”

Panic consumed John completely. He stared at Abigail wide eyed and short of breath, his thoughts running a mile a minute. John had never said the fact out loud, even repressing ever really fully comprehending it internally. It came as such a shock for Abigail to say it, seizing him because of how deep he had buried that part of himself.

He quickly tried to disprove her statement, but all that came out was an incoherent noise, suddenly not knowing how to string a sentence together. He felt heat rise to his cheeks, not even able to look at Abigail directly anymore.

“See, you’re getting all flustered just talking about him!” She held up a hand to hide her laughter.

“No, I’m not!” John yelled at her, jolting upright.

She stood too, shock taking over her features which immediately morphed into concern, “hey, it’s okay!”

“Did you tell anyone?!” John blurted out, still consumed by his fright.

“No, no of course not!” Abigail hesitantly reached a hand out to put on John’s arm. He let her, both of them lowering down in their seats again, then retracted her hand.

“You can’t say anything, please, Abigail, you _can’t._”

“I won’t, John. Hey,” she moved so John was forced to look at her, “I would never do that to you.”

He nodded, swallowing dryly, “okay.”

When he thought his heart rate had returned to normal, another thought struck him. “But I don’t understand, didn’t you think that…we?” he pointed between the two of them.

“Loved each other?” She gave a little huff, “I hate to say it but you didn’t exactly sweep me off my feet, John Marston.”

He just stared at her, completely dumbfounded.

“_Buuut_ I do think that deep down you care about me as much as I care about you. Sure, at one point I might’ve hoped for more, but I don’t feel that way anymore as much as you don’t.”

She moved forward to carefully put a hand on his arm again, this time her grip firm. “All I want is for you to _provide _for Jack and I. I’m not asking for us to be this perfect family, just to be there for us.”

“I, yeah but-are you okay with that? Me being with…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence out loud.

“I want you to be happy, John.” There was a short pause before she continued, “you know there’s nothing wrong with you because of that, right?”

For however gentle her words were, he almost fell completely apart from them. His face contorted from an overwhelming sense of emotion that rendered him unable to respond.

Abigail was sitting before him, fully aware of who John was, and completely accepting of it. He didn’t think anyone could ever understand, yet somehow she did. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled her into a tight hug. He clung onto her, almost as surprised as she was by the gesture. It wasn’t like him to do something like this, but he felt there was no other way he could have expressed his gratitude towards her.

She pulled back from their embrace, but still held onto his arms, “I have to say. You and Arthur, it’s actually kinda sweet.”

Her voice was soft when she said it, making John want to die from embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, woman-”

The opening to the tent abruptly whipped aside, interrupting them and drawing their attention. At the entrance stood Arthur, wearing an easy smile that immediately fell when his eyes landed on John and Abigail holding each other. 

John quickly dropped his arms, “Arthur-”

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Actually,” Abigail shot up from where she was sitting. “I was just leaving.” 

She gave John a brief look as she moved to exit the tent, “if you’ll excuse me.” She slipped past Arthur, leaving him to awkwardly stay behind.

Silence followed when neither of them said anything, only to be broken by Arthur when it had become painfully obvious.

“Well, I just heard you’d come back and wanted to check that you’re alright, which you seem to be so I’ll just be going then.” He was gone before he’d even finished what he was saying, the tent flap falling into place after his rushed escape.

John let out a heavy sigh, letting his head fall into his hands. He cursed himself for being such a damn mess, knowing that that could have gone way better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *phew* another chapter out! I just want to say how sorry I am for the slow progress on this story. :( Things have been super busy making time to write practically non-existent so I truly appreciate the patience for updates. ;_; Thank you to anyone who is still keeping up with it, I honestly couldn't blame you if you didn't. That being said, can ya'll believe it's been a year since I posted the first chapter? Because I sure can't!! I love this fic so so so so much and am putting everything into its story so please bear with me! This fic is my baby and though it's been quite a while already I still have the full intention of continuing and finishing it! It's been difficult to motivate myself on top of being so busy (going between hating what I've been writing to actually liking it then wondering how the hell anyone can read it like omg am I illiterate to wow! I'm actually so proud! *sigh it has def been a rollercoaster), but alas! I hope that anyone who is reading this enjoyed this chapter!!! Happy one year anniversary 100 letters!!! 🎉


End file.
